


What do you do with a fake B.A in parapsychology?

by Pezzythecat



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Avatar, Canon Compliant, Canon Typical Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-Typical Worms (The Magnus Archives), Jon/Martin, M/M, Missing Scene, Mutual Pining, Other, Season one archive staff, Spooky marionette, The crew go to the pub a lot, The original not-wife, These boys are so oblivious pining you can see it from space, lonley eyes, slowburn, tim stoker fan club
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:15:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21738193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pezzythecat/pseuds/Pezzythecat
Summary: Jon was down there. He could just take a quick turn to the right and down the thirteen steps to the basement, he could walk away from Peter and the lonely, be back at Jon’s side…a series of flashbacks triggered through s4.lots of soft Jon and Martin sassy Sasha and Tim and the usual angst and fun that comes with the lovely trauma of Magnus life.jumping back and forth between the first four seasons, using flashbacks and current story progression.now with extra added Tim...and yes the title of this is a riff on a song from avenue q.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker, Sasha James/Tim Stoker
Comments: 30
Kudos: 93





	1. Chapter 1

Martin felt the tugging long before he realised what it was.

The grip of the beholding had been slipping as he took the steps closer and closer towards a new god. But now it tugged at him, the knowledge biting away at the corners of his mind dragging his thoughts from the blinking cursor on the computer screen.

He knew he was supposed to be rescheduling the rotas of the library staff, under Peter’s orders ( _ “make sure that they never start or finish at the same time...and it’s not ‘productive’ for them to have a break at the same time either… Elias would want standards to slip in his absence after all”)  _ he knew he should look at the small flickering email notification in the screen's bottom that showed a new message from Rosie: a meeting that he would no doubt have to attend in place of Peter. He knew he had a million and one things to be doing that didn’t involve getting up and leaving the office. Yet he found himself on his feet, mind everywhere but on the work piling up on his desk.

If anyone asked, he was going to make a cup of tea. He was allowed to make tea, even if that happened to involve going down to the break room for the seventh time this morning. 

It absolutely had nothing to do with the fact that Jon had discharged himself from the hospital, and even less to do with the fact that he had signed in to his work computer exactly two hours and forty-six minutes ago. 

Martin didn’t  _ know _ this, of course, not Martin Blackwood, trainee avatar to the Lonely… he hadn’t been checking constantly since eight am, waiting for the little light on the PC next to Jonathan Sim’s name to flick its pixels from red to green.  _ Absolutely not _ .

Archival assistant Martin Blackwood...now he might have been the one to do that, he was the assistant to Jonathan Sims, server to the Beholding… if that particular pavlovian response had kicked in at roughly seven-fifteen, well that was the eye’s fault. Peter couldn’t blame him for that...slip? 

As for the tea break, he  _ was _ aloud one. Even if he did have one of the fancy coffee machines in the corner of the office, he couldn’t help if he had run out of tea pods and had to go down to the actual break room and make actual tea, with a teabag and everything.

If he happened to run into someone from the archives while he was down there, then so be it.  _ Fear god's move in mysterious ways.  _

He most definitely was not checking the door every few moments to see if Basira had come up for her regular morning chi, he didn’t recount Melanie's red bulls in the fridge to see if he had missed her… he most definitely did not slow at the top of the steps to the archives as something in the empty part of his chest tugged towards the swing doors. Propped open with a chair, the light pooling in the open hallway almost looking like a welcome home banner, warm and inviting, rucking against the cold in his chest that the lonely drip-fed on an hourly basis.

Jon was down there. He could just take a quick turn to the right and down the thirteen steps to the basement, he could walk away from Peter and the lonely, be back at Jon’s side… listen to his voice. He missed the sound of Jon’s voice, he had been so sure he wouldn’t ever hear it again. Tim had always teased him mercifully about it, but never cruelly, Tim was never cruel, not even in the end. 

_ “I think Hermione Granger said it best, so I will paraphrase the queen” Tim had said two pitchers down in a Wetherspoons and wondering if ordering some dirty chicken was a good idea or not, “Jon, has the emotional range of a teaspoon! You can do better than him Maaaaaaaaartin, it must be like lusting after a teaspoon, an angry grumpy teaspoon.”  _

_ Sasha negotiated her way to them then, pitcher number three and four, joining the empty battleground of discarded glass on the table. “Oh, is this his: Jon is a teaspoon theory?” _

_ “So this isn’t a new thing?” Martin said, taking the neon green pitcher from Sasha and filling up his glass. _

_ “No… I’ve listened to this rant before ... in this very seat, Timmy is just annoyed that you beat him to the boss that’s all, he’s afraid of the competition. Thinks his skills are slipping,” she grinned at the disgruntled snort that came from Tim as he punched his fingers frantically on the screen of his phone. _

_ “I do not begrudge a moment of Martin and the Boss’s quality banter Sasha, I’m just saying… Marty... My little Martikins could do so much better. I mean I get it, the whole grumpy lecturer aesthetic is kinda hot, and well he is hot in a short dark and brooding way, and well he does positively indecent things to statements, have you heard him? But .. I digress...the fact that I’d do the boss is not the point, our point is... it’s Friday. We are in the pub… we clocked off four hours ago. We are getting drunk! But where is Jon? I mean, where is our illustrious leader right now? He sure isn’t in the pub with us, and he KNOWS Martin is here, not in his cave in the basement.”  _

_ “And that makes a difference because?” Martin watched as Tim aimed the phone in the general direction of himself and Sasha, vaguely aware that Tim was attempting to take a photo. Sasha always ready for a camera, pulling Martin into a bone-breaking hug that pushed her glasses into his cheek as she invaded his personal space. _

_ “Because… “Tim said grinning at his phone. “It just does ok. Not my place to say anything.” _

_ “Bollocks, that’s never stopped you before.” Martin lent forward, trying to grab Tim’s phone from his hand. “What are you grinning at?” Tim was too quick sliding his phone into his impossibly tight jeans.  _

_ “Just sending a text to Jon, letting him know his Favourite archive assistant misses him,” Tim said grinning. “Maybe he will change his mind and show up?” Tim shrugged grabbing a menu and heading to the bar.  _

_ Beside him, Sasha’s eyes also followed as Tim sashayed around the group of builders watching the match. “His hips should not be allowed to move like that,” she said, pushing her glasses a little further up her nose.  _

_ “Yet, they do…” _

_ “And yet we still watch him, and he knows it too, he’s such a tart.” Sasha smiled, pushing Martin’s drink into his hand. “You shouldn’t let him wind you up so much, you know, I think it’s kind of cute that you and Jon like each other.” _

_ Martin spluttered as he misjudged his sip “Jon doesn’t like me, he barely tolerates me-” _

_ “-yet you’re always his first choice whenever he needs something… I can’t speak for Tim, but I've listened to the tapes… he talks about you a lot.” _

_ “Jon talks about…. everything a lot, well he does!” Sasha had scoffed at him, but he felt he needed to underline the fact that Jon barely thought of him as an assistant, he barreled on regardless. “He might not talk to us, but he reads so many statements-” _

_ “-Good job you like the sound of his voice so much then isn’t it.”  _

_ Martin felt his cheeks warm. “It is a rather nice voice, yes… stop grinning at me like that, Sasha, it’s not funny.” _

_ “Your crush on the boss is one of the few things that gets me into work each day, don’t deny me my small pleasures. I have to live vicariously through you and Tim, my love life is so boring at the moment ” _

_ “Glad I can entertain you… still no luck with Rosie?”  _

_ “Oh, she will bite eventually, have you seen me? Stoker may have the hips but I have the lips,” Sasha groaned pushing her drink away “… yeah, I think it's dirty chicken time, soak up some of the alcohol... I'm starting to sound like one of Tim's bad chat up lines.” _

_ “Hoy.. you two what table number ...was it sixty-nine?” Tim’s voice carried over the group of builders, Martin craned his head to see him, rolling his eyes and nodding, Tim knew fine well what table they were at. The same table they were always at. Martin scanned the group of builders, no. no. No. aha, dark cropped hair stubble olive skin and tattoos, Tim had picked his target for the night, the victim looked up to see what the noise was about eyes falling on Tim at the bar. Tim dropped the builder a coy smile, or it would have been coy to anyone who didn’t know Timothy Stoker.  _

_ “Fiver says he’s straight.” Sasha holds out her hand to him.  _

_ “Since when has that stopped Tim?” Martin held his hand out to wrap around her long slim fingers. _

_ “I bet on him being straight, I said nothing about Tim shagging him.” Martin sighed, that was his taxi fare home lost then. _

_ Martin watched as Tim effortlessly flirted with the builder, he wished he had even an ounce of that confidence. To chat someone up in a bar? Impossible. It had taken him a month to string a sentence together when he had first started working with Tim, between the wisecracks and the relentless flirting with anything that had a pulse Tim had been an experience that Martin had not been ready for. Martin knew that Tim was mostly harmless but the way he had hit on Martin when they started working together had confused him. That and the fact that Tim had taken it upon himself to find Martin a date at every opportunity possible. It was sweet but Martin wasn’t an idiot, no one would look twice at him when Tim was around.  _

_ Tim was grinning at him, phone in hand from beside the bar. In his pocket, the phone vibrated.  _

_ *What do you think? A score?*~T _

_ *Go team Stoker!*~M _

_ *Shame. He's straight ... we could have shared:( * ~T _

_ Martin felt the colour rising in his cheeks at Tim’s suggestion.  _

_ “What made you flush? A dick pic?” Sasha said, grabbing his phone from his hand and leaning herself and the phone out of arm's reach. _

_ “It’s from Tim!” Martin huffed. _

_ “Your getting dick pics from Tim?” she flicked through the phone while Martin attempted to grab it from her hand. “I feel like ... you have that sort of thing... you should share with the class.” she smiled. “Oh, and I see you owe me a fiver...”  _

_ “Is nothing private with you two about?” Martin sunk into his seat, defeated before almost jumping to his feet. He wasn’t expecting the feeling of someone's arm against his side.  _

_ He spun around to see who the newcomer to their party was, he half expected Rosie or maybe Rachel from artefact storage. What he wasn’t prepared for was Jon, looking at him eyes full of curiosity, Martin felt himself go as red as the hoodie he wished he could zip up and hide in.  _

_ “Bloody hell Jon, you're like some sort of creepy Jesus, sneaking up like that,” Sasha said nearly dropping Martins phone into the jug of purple rain that sat between them. _

_ “Didn’t want to interrupt the high-quality discussion you have on a night off.” his voice was deadpan, but Martin detected the sarcastic undertone.  _

_ “Business as usual boss. Just inspecting the content of Martin’s chat log, got to make sure Tim’s not sliding into his dm’s. Can’t have that sort of thing in the workplace.” Sasha gave Martin such a pointed look It surprised him an eyebrow didn’t disappear into her hair wrap. _

_ “Is Tim into the habit of doing such things?” Jon picked at the label on the bottle in his hand as he glanced over at Tim. The prince of smarm was just entering the builders' number into his phone.  _

_ “He’s mostly harmless.” _

_ “Mostly?” Jon looked slightly concerned. _

_ “You must have noticed he flirts with anything that has a pulse?” Martin tried not to think about the way Tim seemed to take it all in his stride. Jon had to notice his flirting? Jon couldn’t be that oblivious could he? If he was, then maybe some of the more stupid things he had done whilst tongue-tied and flustered may not have registered, maybe there was hope for him yet.  _

_ “Well, it's just as well your immune to his charms then.” To his credit, the corners of Jon’s mouth twitched. It might just have been the most adorable thing Martin had ever seen. A genuine smile on the face of Jonathan Sims, who would have thought it possible. _

_ “How does he do it!” Martin sighed opening his wallet and sliding the fiver he owed Sasha across the table over the table watching as Tim extracted himself from the builders' side and headed back across to them.  _

_ “How do you do it!” _

_ “Never give away a secret young padawan, but one day I may teach you the ways of the Jedi.” Tim bowed whilst skipping up the few steps to the booth and sliding in next to Sasha. “Nice of you to show up boss! Sash, why you got my wingman's phone?” he pulled his glass towards him downing it in one, winking at Martin as he did so. _

_ “Just being disappointed, there is an upsetting lack of dicks in it.” she gestured towards Martin with his handset. “Lots of pussy though look !" .Martin could feel himself shrinking into the seat. He was used to them being like this. Normally it wouldn’t bother him in the slightest, but the current company had proven that he wasn’t drunk enough yet to deal with this in front of the man currently the victim of his one-sided lust.  _

_ Beside him, Jon peeled the last of the label from his bottle avoiding his eye. Tim and Sasha were drunk and that meant Martin was set to be very uncomfortable, Jon’s presence had sobered Martin up considerably. _

_ Tim leant into Sasha as she flicked through his phone’s photo album. Martin knew nothing was incriminating on his phone, or at least there hadn’t been. He didn’t like how this was heading. It was one thing to taunt Martin but to do it when Jon was SAT.RIGHT.THERE. He tried to communicate that fact to Tim who now held his phone like it was some holy relic. _

_ “Oh, look at that one,” Tim said grinning… “Look boss it’s ginger, like Marty!”  _

_ Tim slid martins phone across the table towards Jon, who instinctively caught it as it landed in his lap, a picture of a giant fat ginger cat smiling up at him. Jon looked at the screen, looked up, and laughed.  _

_ “I don’t know what I was expecting, really.” Martin looked up at him, he had never really heard Jon laugh before, it was deep and smooth, and it did something unnatural to his insides.  _

_ Martin recovered quickly though, he hadn’t gotten this far in life without having the ability to talk himself out of awkward situations. _

_ “It’s my Neighbor's cat, he’s a handsome boy. Why wouldn’t I have a phone full of him.”  _

_ Jon caught his eye for a second, his eyes alive with something that Martin hadn’t seen there before.  _

_ “He reminds me of mine and Georgie’s cat. Not that she would call him handsome.” Jon handed Martin back his phone, breaking the eye contact while fishing out his own phone. Martin felt his stomach drop, why had he been under the impression that Jon was single, why did the mention of this Georgie make him feel like someone had sucked the wind out of him? He scolded himself for having had the stupidity to hope.  _

_ His phone vibrated.  _

_ *sorry bud*~T _

_ *oh Martin…*~s _

_ He swiped the messages away pointedly ignoring the faces of his two friends from across the table. The ginger cat glared back up at him from the screen.  _

_ Martin barely registered the fact that Jon had taken his phone out and was swiping through the photo album. _

_ “The Admiral is a bit of a scruff compared to that cat. But that’s just because since Georgie got custody she doesn’t groom him half as much as she should” Jon pulled up a picture of a fat ginger tabby, its squashed face surrounded with erratic fur that stuck up in all directions. Martin couldn’t help but smile as they compared the pictures. So the cat didn’t live with him and Georgie then? So it was past tense?  _

_ He wasn’t the only one to notice. Tim pushed the jug of cocktail over towards Martin with a wink, as the server arrived at the table with the plates of food Tim had ordered. _

_ “Oh boss, that’s harsh, did the wife get the cat in the divorce? One of my ex’s kept my hamster, Spartacus took one for the team with that one I can tell you,” he said scooping up a loaded nacho and shoving it in his mouth, beside him Sasha looked on in disgust. _

_ “Not that it’s any of your business Tim, but in a manner of speaking, yes.” Martin watched as Jon took a long swig from his bottle, determinedly looking away from him. When he had drunk the last of the dregs he continued. “It made more sense for her to keep him since she works from home. Believe it or not, I spend a lot of time out of the house.” _

_ “Does that include outside of work activities?” Sasha helped herself to a chicken wing.  _

_ Jon at least had the decency to look ashamed. “No comment.” _

_ Martin got to his feet. “We are out of drink, it’s my round, right?” _

_ “You got any money left after Sasha fleeced you?” Tim smirked. _

_ “Enough to get another round in yes.” Martin reached out grabbing some nachos, eating two and flicking the third at Tim who ducked just before it hit him letting out a high-pitched chuckle, a feeling was growing in his chest and he was sure it was more than the influence of alcohol.  _

  
  
  
  


Hovering outside the Archives was the way madness lay, but still, Martin stared at the pool of light for longer than he had expected. 

There were no signs of life from the basement. Had Jon locked himself in his office? Would someone remember to make him eat? Martin was sure he would forget to do it himself, he was nothing but bones and skin the last time he had seen him in the hospital, hooked up to a machine that showed no signs of life. He had looked so frail, did he still? 

Martin’s phone buzzed, instinctively he pulled it from his jeans pocket glancing at the screen, he would have given anything for it to be a text from anyone but the person whose name popped up on the phone.

*Where are you,?*~Jon

His heart thumped in his chest, the pain too sharp to deal with.

The world went cold; he was supposed to be learning from Peter, learning to isolate himself. He needed to do this. What was he doing? He was being ridiculous coming down to the archives, looking for an accidental run-in with the one thing that would set all his planning back, he should go back to his office, back to his spreadsheets and distance from everything and everyone.

He had to distance himself from Jon, no matter what his heart said, Jon didn’t want him. There was a very good chance that whatever left that hospital hadn’t been Jon at all. 

If that was the case, Martin would give all this up for nothing but an idea that no longer existed. Jon couldn’t love him. Jon couldn’t even stand him. He tried to remind himself of that as he headed back up the stairs.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

“I see Elias’s star pupil has returned. ”

Martin didn’t lookup. He knew Peter was there without having to. The smell of salt had permeated the air and the room grew several degrees colder whenever the man, if that was what you could call him, entered the room. 

He hovered near the window, the dank fog that blurred out the amber glow of the streetlamps pressed tight against the glass. Martin was getting used to the fact that Peter seemed to be able to just phase in and out of existence at his own choosing, he wondered if that was a Peter thing or a lonely. Martin had spent most of his life trying to be as invisible as possible, maybe that was why Peter had picked him. 

He tried not to think about the fact he was probably picked because he had nobody who would miss him if he were gone, no family, no friends... 

His chest pulled and lurched as his mind drifted to the archives. 

No, he never really had Jon. Jon was dead. Whatever that was, it wasn’t Jon.

“You miss him, don’t you?” Peter reached up opening the window, inviting the fog in from the street like some unyielding death. 

“I miss the idea of him.” Martin tried and failed to ignore the cold creep on his flesh.

“You’re learning Martin. Elias said you had a good survival instinct. Happy to see he wasn’t wrong, don’t tell him of course. You would have been wasted, just feeding you to our god. It’s a long time since someone from outside my family was fit for the task of avatar, but here you are. What makes it sweeter is taking you right under the beholding's nose.” The smile that always lived on Peter's face was evident in the tone of his voice. Martin didn’t need to see it.

Martin glanced over the statements that lay on his desk, he had tried his best to gather what he could from them, but the information he needed seemed to be just outside his grasp. The closer he got to the Lonely, the harder it became for him to gather useful information from the statements. His head fogged his vision blurred.

Peter walked to the desk, dropping a manila folder on top of the files he already had open.

“Read this one, then get some rest. Go for a walk who knows the fog might even be your friend.” 

He looked up at Peter this time, the cold grey eyes didn’t hold the warmth that the smile promised, maybe Martin would get to that same point where everything felt empty and nothing hurt. If that was his fate, then he wished it would come about soon. His heart was bound to betray him otherwise.

“No sarcasm about the fact that  _ ‘My Archivist’ _ is back then?” Martin was shocked by the bitterness in his voice. Peter dropped the perpetual smile momentarily. It was a split second but Martin caught it.

“You don’t need me to rub more salt into that wound, seems to me, you can do that yourself.” he reached out patting martin on the shoulder, the touch was like a bolt of ice through his limbs.

“Must go, Family matter to deal with.” and like that he was gone.

The room warmed slightly as Martin got to his feet, heading towards the window to close it. The last thing he needed was the smoggy London air getting in and making the place damp, he could hardly stop an apocalypse if he caught pneumonia.

His office overlooked the small back alley to the back of the institute, the tall windows leading out onto a fire escape that seemed unfit for the purpose, it rattled when anyone saw fit to let the outside in. 

It was as he reached to pull the counterweight for the window that it hit him; The smell pulled at him in much the same way as the light of the archive had, floating into a part of his subconscious. Tugging on a dormant memory or maybe just a memory he wished he could bury deep. 

  
  


_ Martin had intended to head back to the table, join the others, but his head was swimming. _

_ Jon’s sudden appearance had thrown him. Why had he changed his mind? Had Tim really tempted him to join them with that picture? Was what Sasha saying true? He had seen the shy smile that had crept on to Jon’s lips. Maybe she was onto something? But this ex, was it a recent thing? Did he want her back? Was Jon even interested in men? Martin had too many new thoughts running through his head, he needed some air. _

_ The beer garden was a little bigger than the ones that normally furnished this part of London. Although the steps that led down to the decking area had caused the dignity of several archival staff to be thrown out the window. Many a night Martin had picked a co-worker up off the floor after one too many shots. It was always quieter on the lower level of the yard. The buildings looming either side and the train tracks to the bottom of the square left a tiny space of solitude if you timed it right. Something hard to get in the centre of such a busy metropolis. _

_ Martin pulled himself up on the wall next to the intricately carved wooden owl. Why did he become such a disaster around people he fancied? Maybe it would calm down like the crush he had on Tim when he started in research? He doubted it if anything it was getting worse and the fact that Tim and Sasha both knew wasn’t helping things in the slightest. _

_ Martin was glad nobody was about, he could get his head in order. He sat staring at the dancing fairy lights in the tree across the track, a mind full of repeating possibilities that would never come to pass. _

_ The sound of someone coming down the steps broke him from his reverie. Looking up, he saw Jon walking down the dimly lit steps, fumbling in his pocket for something. He came to a stop at the bottom of the steps apparently unaware of Martin's presence on the other side of the wooden structure. Martin took the chance to observe him, he rarely saw Jon unguarded unless deep in a statement or research, it was nice to see him looking less studious, his shoulders not hunched over nose inches from the paper.  _

_ Jon retrieved the thing he was looking for from his pocket, a lighter, he lifted it lit the cigarette that was in his lips and took a draw. _

_ “Didn’t know you smoked” Martin tried not to laugh as Jon jumped a mile, amused at his little revenge from earlier. Jon shot him the same look he normally reserved for when Martin interrupted a good statement. It was strange but seeing him do anything at all outside sitting behind a desk, made Martin think of a nature documentary. Like observing an endangered animal, new, exciting, and a little scary. He half expected David Attenborough to start narrating over the top of him. Martin tried not to linger on the rise and fall of Jon's chest as he calmed himself down, but it was nice to see Jon looking momentarily human, doing human things.  _

_ Jon huffed out the smoke. It curled in the air before him. He watched it instead of looking at Martin, worrying at his bottom lip. "I ...I tried to quit, but muscle memory is there when I have a drink. I know it's a bad thing. You don't have to look at me like that." Martin lent against the wooden owl. He felt giddy. He wasn’t sure if it was a strange feeling in his chest that grew when he looked at Jon, or the alcohol finally kicking in, but he was glad the structure could take his weight as he leaned into it. "Not Looking at you like anything!" _

_ "Yes You are, it’s the same look you wear when I tell you I forgot to get lunch."  _

_ "Am I?"  _

_ Jon nodded. Taking another draw on his cigarette, Martin felt his eyes follow the motion. _

_ That tugging was back. It hooked him in his ribcage now, he really needed to stop staring but the alcohol was nudging him forward tempting him with bravado he normally wouldn't have. _

_ The silence grew between the two of them; it wasn't uncomfortable, Martin was used to it by now. The long silence was second nature as they worked alongside each other, first in research and now in the archives. Martin was never sure why he had been moved to the basement, he never questioned it, maybe he should have, looking back, but he was happy to follow Jon, he was comfortable working with Tim and Sasha, happy to be wanted for something instead of a hindrance. _

_ “What are you doing out here?” Jon leaned against the owl carving, turning himself to look at him. Martin could feel his eyes studying his features as Martin hung on to the owl. He wasn’t judging him, at least it didn’t feel like he was, he was just watching.  _

_ “Just getting a bit of fresh air.” he shrugged.  _

_ “Well , until I came barging in with my tabs,” Jon looked like he had been trying to make light of the situation but Martin was struggling to think straight, aware of the alcohol starting to affect him as he sat in the cool night air.  _

_ Martin was sure if he made a sudden move Jon would startle and scatter like a scared cat, something that he didn’t want to happen, not when the light was hitting him with a warm glow that made him look almost ethereal. He knew he shouldn't stare, but he couldn’t help himself. It was like he was seeing Jon without all the hard edges, the Jon that existed in the back of his mind, on the shelf that was normally labelled ‘unobtainable’.  _

_ He felt his phone vibrating in his pocket but ignored it. The only people who would call him right now were Tim and Sasha, and both of them could bugger off after that little show before.  _

_ “Are you ok Martin?” something in Jon’s voice sounded genuine, soft like he actually cared. Martin kicked himself, of course, he cared, he was his boss. He needed him in for work Monday, didn’t he? It wouldn’t. No, couldn’t be anything else. _

_ “Yeah, I’m fine.” he lied. _

_ “Sure?” Jon didn’t sound convinced. He looked at Martin over the top of the hand cupping the cigarette, the gentle glow illuminating his fingers as he took another draw. Martin slowly nodded. Breathing deep to calm his own beating heart. The smell of the burning tobacco wrapping itself up in that calming breath. _

_ Getting to his feet he looked down at Jon, he always forgot how small he was, his personality made him seem so much larger, he spread himself out so much in his place of work he seemed to fill the space. Martin found himself slouching slightly to accommodate the height imbalance. Maybe if Jon didn’t spend so long hunched over a desk his posture would give him a bit more height. Might save him from having to slouch so much to meet him... _

_ He caught himself, he was staring at Jon’s lips again as he smoked, this time he swore Jon caught the gaze almost deliberately, holding it just a moment longer than seems necessary. _

_ Martin felt the colour rising in his cheeks,  _ _ ‘you did not just think about how, if Jon was a bit taller it would be easier for you to kiss him _ _ …’ his mind provided helpfully as he pushed down the strange sensation that pooled in his ribs.  _

_ “You really should try and quit properly you know. It’s not good for you.” he tried to make it come across as a gentle tease, trying to distract from the strangeness of the situation. _

_ “Hum, Yes you aren't the first person to tell me that,” Jon said extinguishing the butt in a small fire bucket of sand designated for the purpose. “Shall we?” he gestured to the steps. _

_ “Shall we what?” _

_ “I believe, since that is the seventh phone call you have ignored, either Tim is concerned for your welfare, wants his cocktail or is worried that you have gone after his builder… we should probably go put his mind at rest.” There was something playful in the way Jon spoke. Something a little less stuffy than his normal tone. It tugged a smile onto Martin's face. _

_ "I doubt he'll be worried I'm trying to steal his builder, who's going to look at me when Tim exists!" Martin mumbled to himself. _

_ "Why do you do that?" Jon turned. He was two steps up from Martin, who took the chance to enjoy the matching eye line for a change, he took the time to study the lines that furrowed across Jon's forehead, imprinted there by overwork and stress. The grey sneaking into his dark eyebrows and around the temples. He always looked worried about everything. But the concern there now was directed at Martin, he felt seen in a way he had never felt before. _

_ "I don't get what you mean?" _

_ "Why do you self depreciate like that?" _

_ "Because I'm me?" He offered, it sounded pathetic on his lips, Jon rolled his eyes and shook his head. Two quick shakes no more, his eyes darted back to Martin, a kindness in them Martin wasn't used to at all. _

_ "Well let's get you a drink, personally, I think that builder and Tim aren't good enough for you. You could do so much better. " He turned on his heel and Martin watched him ascend the steps, trying not to think of the way Jon's words had echoed Tim's feelings about his boss.  _

_ Jon must have noticed he hadn't immediately followed, turning at the top of the steps to look down at him.  _

_ "Martin?"  _

_ There was affection in Jon's voice that shook him from his musings, calling him up the steps towards him and the hustle of the bar. _

  
  
  


_ "And where did you both sneak off to?" Tim tease as they put the pitchers down on the table. _

_ "To the bar?" Martin offered, pushing the jug of skittles towards Tim, happy in the fact that he had something to help deflect from the redness rising in his face.  _

_ "If this is your level of interrogation skills, I'm surprised you ever get any information from anyone," Jon said dryly as he slipped in next to Sasha, catching Martin's eye for a second before pouring himself a drink from the other pitcher.  _

_ "I could get it out of you if I wanted." Tim huffed.  _

_ Martin chuckled to himself momentarily before surveying the lay of the table, choosing his options. He could sit next to Tim, or he could slide in next to Jon.  _

_ Tim saw the cogs turning in Martin's mind and decided for him. Spreading out to fill the most amount of available space possible on his side of the booth. He grinned up at Martin, wiggling his eyebrows.  _

_ His hand swayed Martin slid next to Jon, trying to keep a respectable distance even if that meant not quite entirely making his way onto the seat. Jon looked up at him as he perched on the end of the booth before scooting along to make a little more room. Martin had no choice now but to move closer, his leg pressing up against Jon’s suddenly the most real feeling in the world. To steady his nerves he scooped his phone out of his pocket trailing down the missed calls and text messages. _

_ Sure enough, the list consisted entirely of missed calls from Tim and Sasha, he wasn’t at all surprised it wasn’t as if he had an abundance of friends. _

_ He reached forward to help himself to the piles of food that lay on the table, at his side Jon talked to Sasha, but it was too muted for him to make out the topic of conversation. He could feel Jon’s leg as he tapped his foot to the music that fed from the speakers, Martin tried not to focus on how it felt, that strange contact almost casual, another barrier to be broken down. Across the table Tim tried to catch his eye, facial expressions overly dramatic, Martin tried desperately to ignore. In his hand, the phone buzzed. _

_ *And …*~T _

_ *what?*~M _

_ He felt Tim try and kick him under the table.  _

_ *you know fine well what… where were you and Sims?*~T  _

_ *shagging in the toilets* ~M _

_ Tim almost choked on his drink, “Really?” he said out loud, looking up from his phone. _

_ Martin took a big bite of the chicken strip that in his hand, trying not to laugh at the look on Tim’s face. He looked both impressed and doubtful, eyes darting from Martin to Jon with a look of uncertainty. Martin felt Jon move, Tim’s outburst having caught his attention. _

_ “You ok Tim?”  _

_ “Fine boss, just surprised.” Martin ignored the pained look in Tim’s eye. _

_ “Told him I’d got that builders number, he can’t take the competition can you Tim.” _

_ Martin tried not to linger on the fact that Jon was watching him so intently. _

_ “Listen, I set the bar high, I’m just proud that's all” Tim improvised.  _

_ His brain was going over the new information it had gained in such a short amount of time. Jon had thought Martin could do so much better than Tim or one of his conquests. It was bizarre that Jon thought of him at all. Between that and this casual touch, his current actions were doing something to the hard-wiring in Martin’s brain.  _

_ Sasha snorted. “Honestly, don’t get why you two are single, what, with all you offer the population of greater London!” _

_ “Listen with Martin’s cute retro geek thing going on and my amazing god-like body… we all know that this ass is amazing… I and Blackwood would be the ultimate power couple...I’m surprised we don’t have them eating out the palms of our hands.” Tim rolled his eyes. _

_ “Cute retro geek?” Martin joked. “Awe do you have a little crush on me, Tim? Still bitter I turned you down?” _

_ “Shudup I’m drunk.” Tim snapped turning his attention back to the phone in his hand.  _

_ “And therefore I need you to come out more often, boss, the two of them are like this all the time. How am I supposed to survive in a world where I’m torn between two such handsome men?”  _

_ “I ...uh..” Oh, that was just too precious for words the way Jon stuttered when you put him on the spot like that. _

_ “Rhetorical boss, it's ok I won’t make you choose between my boys” Sasha grinned polishing off the last of her drink, then pointedly climbing over Martin and Jon, pushing them closer together, as she tried to get out of the booth. “I need to pee. Try not to start an orgy or a fight while I'm gone yeah?” Martin wasn’t sure who that was directed at, but he tried to laugh it off. However, he was hyper-aware of the fact that Jon still pressed into his side, even now Sasha was no longer using them as a springboard. He tried not to think of the way the bare skin of his forearm rubbed against Jon, the smell of smoke and something cinnamon-scented hung on his clothes. Would it linger on him later? He wouldn’t mind. It would be something else to file away in the unobtainable file of Jonathan Sims. _

_ Sasha patted him on the end of the nose affectionately “s’okay Mart’s we know you're my favourite… just don’t tell Timmy…” _

_ “I heard that.” _

_ In his hand, his phone vibrated again. _

_ *Did you really shag the boss in the bogs?*  _

_ Martin tilted the phone to hide the screen from Jon, who was pointedly watching Sasha walk across the room.  _

_ *You would be the first person I’d tell if I had. I would hate you to miss out on an I told you so*~M _

_ *he’s only here because I got him here, For You AND YOUR WELCOME!*~T _

_ *Thankyou Timothy, You, and your arse, are the wingman I always needed in my life!*~M _

_ Tim shook his head from the other side of the table, still tapping away on the screen of his phone. _

_ Martin’s phone vibrated again in his hand. _

_ *wtf! Did you shag Jon in the toilets?*~S _

_ He should have known it wouldn’t take two seconds to get to Sasha. Or that she would not realise it was a joke. _

_ This time Martin kicked Tim under the table. “Really?”  _

_ “Really what?” Jon asked from his side.  _

_ “Oh nothing, just office gossip.” Martin tried not to look mortified at the possibility that Jon might have gotten a similar text from Sasha, but she wasn’t that drunk, was she? _

_ “There can’t be that much office gossip. We only have four of us in the department?” Jon lent forward. “Unless I’m not privy to outside influences on my assistants?” _

_ “Just Rosie boss, you know the reception-” _

_ “Yes, I know who Rosie is Tim, I’m not an Idiot.” _

_ “ Well, Sasha has a bit of a crush on her you see….”  _

_ Martin stopped listening as Tim went off into some elaborate story that was more fiction than the truth. Instead, he focused on the way Jon seemed to be relaxing; the tension lifting slightly from his shoulders as he drank. He still sat closer than need is to Martin's side, but Martin wasn’t going to complain. He would take this small pleasure. It might be the only one he ever got. _

_ He was busy trying to work out where the cinnamon smell was coming from when Sasha returned. Tray piled high with shots of varying colours. She slid the tray onto the table and grinned as a woman possessed. _

_ “Celebration shots.” she grinned clambering over Tim, Martin was glad he wouldn’t have to put up with the pair of them and there hangovers in the morning. _

_ “What are we celebrating ?” Jon asked cautiously.  _

_ “You coming out the black hole that is your office,” she said trusting a shot each in their hands. She raised her own “To the Archives.” _

  
  


It was the cinnamon and smoke that did it, drifting in on the afternoon air.

Had Peter done it on purpose? Martin couldn’t help but think so, the man was twisted in ways that surpassed Elias; he was probably feeding off his isolation and enjoying every second.

His head rested against the glass and looked out into the foggy street below, sure enough, there in the ally was the person he hoped wasn’t.

Jon was propped up against the skip. He looked awful, the worst Martin had ever seen him. And Martin had seen him Dead. 

At least technically dead. He had at least looked peaceful then, the worry lines dropped from his face, eyes did not constantly pull tight with fear and frustration and stress.

Martin tried to ignore the pain that split his chest in two at seeing the faint red glow of the end of a cigarette as Jon put it to his lips, tried not to think about the way that very sight used to tease his dreams for so long. Jon looked small and fragile. But he looked like Jon. 

He wasn’t a Monster, not like the things that attacked the institute, not twisted like Helen, not distorted into some idea of the thing that controlled him. He just looked tired and scared.

_ Jon knows this window overlooks that ally, he’s done this on purpose. The watcher doesn't want to give you up,  _ his brain unhelpfully provided. But that was just it, Jon was part of the beholding, they all were, just because Martin had chosen to follow Peter into the Forsaken didn’t mean that he was any less tied to the institute, to Jon. 

How much of this need to be near Jon was the Eye wanting him there?

In the street below, Jon tugged his scarf tighter around his neck, blocking out the creeping cold. His hair was long now tied back out of the way, but still, strands fell across his eyes, the peppered grey that had aged him before creeping in even more now. He looked so much older than his years now, dressed in clothes that Martin didn’t recognise, and were so unlike him it hurt Martin more than he cared to admit, he looked so fragile, that awful tug was back, a longing to take him in his arms and protect him from everything.

But he couldn’t. 

He had to walk away.

“I’m so sorry Jon,” he whispered to himself as he pulled the window shut and dropped the blind blocking out the street below and putting another barrier in place between him and the pull of home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thankyou for the nice comments and Kudos.   
> you make me smile :)
> 
> all typos and bad grammar is mine.


	3. Chapter 3

When you came down to it, he hadn’t ever wanted much. 

Just someone to actually listen to him, really listen to him. His mother had always been so wrapped up in hatred and anger towards him she never listened. Oh, she heard the words, processed the information that he would give her but she didn't listen. Words passed down from teachers, words passed down from doctors, words passed down… they were the words she listened to, sounds and inclinations and good intent. Words of doom and despair, words of hopelessness. His mother had heard all the words, but she never listened to what he said. 

In the end, she left the world never once understanding the things he had tried to say. The spaces in between words that tumbled from his lips in search of a love they had slowly turned to anger. All the words his mother snarled in his direction, they were not meant for him.  Destined for his father, words that Martin listened to, trying not to hear. A slow ache that grew into resentment then into hate. 

All he ever wanted was for her to hear the words that he couldn’t say, to read the gaps between words unspoken, to understand that no matter what she did to him, he loved her unconditionally. That he was not his father, but they never listened to the silences, the anger too far gone into a dissipate that made this slide into the forsaken feel easy.

The lonely wasn’t that hard to embrace. The numbing fog that wrapped around a heart that had nothing left to fight for, no light in the darkness. What good was lighthouse when you were out at sea with no destination to speak of? It had been easy, letting Peter show him how to align with a new god when he was all but cast off into a sea of disappearing.

The pain of losing Sasha, he could remember her now, parts of her, the real Sasha. The words that had been unsaid, the spaces between gaps between actions, someone who tried to hear him, tried to listen, tried to understand. He missed her; he missed that chaotic spark that would ignite an idea. He missed her home-cooked banana cake, the way she always knew how to knock him out of his slump. He never got to say goodbye, the real her, long gone before anyone even realised the idea of her, was not even her anymore.

He ached when his mind wandered to Tim. Not enough of him left for a real funeral, not enough people left in his life to be much more than a pauper send off on institute money, a hand full of people at a symbolic grave and nothing but an empty ache that never left once it had taken up its place in Martin’s chest. Words unspoken but listened to all the same, Martin hated that Tim had spiralled so far before he had reached out. The words unsaid rippled in his memories, twisting the man he knew from the man he had become. Tim, his wingman, helping him tread the water when the world seemed dark and empty with support unsaid in a way that spoke in actions when words could not keep him afloat.

He missed them both with a pain that ripped him apart in ways he never realised were possible. 

What he wouldn’t give to talk to both of them now, to help him understand the things he couldn’t say.

  
  


_ “Just saying, it’s convenient that all,” Tim stirred his tea with the look of a man who knew too much. _

_ “You think everything is convenient, unless it's inconvenient for you.” Martin wasn’t ready for another I told you so, no matter how much he agreed.  _

_ “I’m just saying, you happen to be the only one who is free this weekend? When Jon happens to need an extra set of hands in the archive?”  _

_ “You and Sash have had Download booked for months, how could Jon have known Elias would get a metric shit ton of paperwork from the Usher foundation that far in advance?” Martin dunked his jammy dodger in his own tea watching as Tim sipped from his mug. Tim looked determined as he searched the oversized rucksack that housed his home for the next three days. “It’s a conspiracy. I’m telling you, Jon planned this. It was a coupe. He wanted to get you alone.” he rummaged a little deeper in his bag. “Me and Sasha out your way for four days, a nice little soundproof room out back…” _

_ “Has anyone ever told you your insufferable?” _

_ “Yes, Sasha… about four times a week since we started working together. Were you not paying attention?” _

_ “I always pay attention to you, Tim, it’s not worth the aggro of not keeping your ego stroked. What are you looking for anyway?”  _

_ Tim scrabbled a bit more in the bottom of his bag before straightening up triumphant and throwing something at Martin. _

_ “A box of condoms? Really, Tim!” he felt the red pooling in his cheeks as he threw the box back at Tim, thankful to any god that listened that the two of them were alone in the break room. He really was a git. _

_ “Listen, I don’t know how much longer I can take you swanning around after him, for my sanity, please, say something to him.” _

_ “I’ve left him enough hints.” _

_ “Cups of tea you mean? You must really love me and Sash to do you?” _

_ “Course I do…” _

_ This was a fight he would not win, not if that look in Tim’s eye was anything to go by.  _

_ “Listen, it was funny when it was a bit of a crush on the boss, but this ( a vague hand gesture at all of Martin) is just depressing.” Martin sunk in on himself, he hated it when Tim was so obviously right about something, he watched as Tim emptied the contents of the snack cupboard into his bag and shoved in the two toilet rolls he had stolen from the restroom. Slinging the rucksack on his back he tested out the weight. Happy with it, he tightened the straps and picked up the second bag that belonged to Sasha from the floor. _

_ Martin ate the last of his jammy dodger as Tim walked over. Nudging him in the side as he made for the door pausing only to hook him under the chin with a finger, lifting his face to look him in the eye. _

_ “You have him to yourself for four days. Test the water, see if something doesn’t bite yeah?”  _

_ “And what if something does?” _

_ “Then maybe... just maybe you get to make more than bloody tea.”  _

  
  


Martin made his tea in Tim’s old cup, ‘no drama llama'. The dry sob caught in the back of his throat, it had been so long since the tears had formed he wondered if he would ever feel them trace his face again. Tim knew how to take the words he couldn’t say and make them seem so obvious. There was a lot to be said, for Tim and his bravado. It always gave him the kick up the ass he needed. 

God, he missed it. Nothing was the same. Nothing. Jon's cup sat on the bench. When was the last time someone had made him tea? Would that my ever get used again? Did the thing that was pretending to be Jon even like tea? Martin shook. The pink cup fell from his hand and shattered on the floor. 

He quickly wiped up the mess pulling the fog around him. He could feel the pricking of being watched sneaking upon his skin. He couldn't deal with Elias seeing him now. Broken shards discarded in the break room bin he gave up on the comfort of tea. Dejected, he headed out into the hall pulling the fog tight. The institute was quiet. The fall out from the lonely touching every part of its spiralling corridors. 

"Martin!" Was that Jon? It couldn't be. Martin, wrapped in the Lonely's embrace, if Elias couldn't get through it then it made sense that neither should Jon, but still, his voice cut through the haze. "Martin!"

He turned towards the sound, like turning towards a light on the horizon of darkness.

"Oh" his stomach twisted, in his chest, his heart pounded racing to life. The world suddenly had colour after the endless sea of grey.

"Hi, Jon." There was no hiding from him Martin felt increasingly seen. The dark brown eyes found his own, almost hungry in the intensity, boring into him trying to read him. He looked so scared, so vulnerable.. so far away from the man that had set off to stop the unknowing. Martin's base urge to reach out and protect him increased tenfold.

"Martin, i-i-i-it’s - I-I, I-I haven’t seen you!" Jon stammered. 

Articulated, well versed academic Jonathan Sims stumbling over his words? Stumbling over his words towards Martin? 

"Yeah. Sorry." He really was. He just wanted to hold him close and keep him safe.

"W-What, where, where have you been, I, I mean I , I thought -"  _ what Jon… what did you think? God, I miss you. This hurts so much, is it hurting you the same way? _

"Oh - No, no I’ve, I’ve been here, I just, um, y’know… been busy."  _ Busy trying to save the world, get myself killed because I thought I'd lost you, you insufferable... _

"Busy." He could feel Jon pushing at the edges of that. Wanting to know more. He could just drag it out of him Know the truth, but he could see that Jon was holding back.

"Yeah." 

"Right. Working for Lukas." There was something in between the words. There was a sadness, but also... a bitterness? Was Jon mad at him? Worried for him? Did Jon think that he would be working for Peter if there was any other way?

He hadn’t ever been all that good an archive assistant, Jon had said so many times himself.

So since when did Jon care so much about him? it wasn't as if Jon had ever really wanted him in the first place, but even so, they had been...

"Ah, N-no, P-Peter’s - It’s complicated." And there was the stutter. It seemed to settle better on his tongue. The balance restored. 

"Right." Jon held his gaze. The forsaken stung at his chest. The beholding pounded in his ears. 

If this was Jon.... the real Jon … no this was Jon. Close up, he could tell, he could see that softness that he hid away from the world. This was his Jon, he knew to the very depths of his being. This was Jon. _ His _ Jon. The Jon that would grumble when he dragged him to eat, would scoff at his mistakes. His Jon who’s rough exterior hid him safely from the world around him. His Jon who would sacrifice himself to make sure no harm came to anyone he cared about. Making sure no harm would come to Martin, no more a monster than Martin was slowly becoming…god what had he done. Jon needed him. Yet here he was abandoning him when he needed his support the most.

He had to know. He knew, didn't he? God, Tim was right. He should have just told him.

Martin loved Jon. He just hoped that was enough. Martin could feel the lonely grabbing at his insides trying to rip the brightest hues of Jon away from him. He should leave, this was wrong. Jon’s hand reached out to him, fingers gently touching his arm before Jon pulled his hand back as if burned, maybe Martin had pulled away, he wasn’t sure everything was a blur.

The beholding tried to push back. Wrapping his mind in memory, but the images shown were not his. He never saw himself in his memories. These were Jon's laid open and raw. It hurt, but not in the way Elias had. Something safe in these memories, did Jon even mean to share them?

Martin looked away, he needed to leave. He pulled the fog of the lonely tight, needing to put up a wall. He needed to leave… before he let the beholding take him back. Before Jon got in and undid all his hard work. "Anyway, I… should, uh get back to-"

"- H-how are you, Martin? I-Is everything…"

_ please, Jon, let me leave, I can't do this.  _

"Yeah. Yeah, no, I’m, I’m alright, uh… everything… fine."

"Right. Um… how’s… h-how’s the poetry?" 

"Oh, uh, well, I haven’t exactly had a lot of time recently, so…"

"Yes, of course. You’ve been busy."

"Yeah."

"Look, Jon, I -I’ve really got to go -" he stepped away, each step pushing up more barriers between the grip of the beholding and pushing Jon further away.

"Oh. Okay." Jon looked so broken, so fragile.

"I’m sorry."  _ I love you.. You have to know Jon, please just Know. _

"W,w,we’ll - it was - good - It was good to see you" it almost sounded like a prayer on Jon’s lips as Martin pulled himself away from him, letting the Forsaken take him.

  
  


_ Martin sat across from him on the floor of the archives, chin resting on his hand, legs crossed nose buried deep in a file, perched atop a shipping box. The only sound other than his pen on paper that of Martin as he grumbled under his breath about ‘stupid American shorthand’ as he crumpled up another post-it note and tossed it towards the bin.  _

_ Jon was content to just watch. Martin was something of an enigma to him, he just never knew what he would do next, and something in that unknowing was what made Jon want to know more. He knew he had been awful to Martin. He knew he had been more awkward and standoffish than he had any cause to be. He also knew Martin didn’t deserve any of it.  _

_ He had no idea how to deal with his crush on his assistant because that was what it was. It had taken him a long time to work it out, the strange feeling that distracted him from his work, the reason he had requested Martin’s transfer to the Archives when he took over the role of head. He felt incredibly selfish, roping Martin into helping him take stock of the Usher projects workload but as he watched Martin chew the end off his pen, he knew he had nobody else he would rather be spending a Friday night with. _

_ “Oh for f…” Martin looked down at the remains of the biro in his hand.  _

_ “Well you aren't supposed to eat them.” he watched as Martin wiped at the splotches of ink on his cheek where the ink had popped, smudging it against freckled skin.  _

_ “Well if Elias would get us decent office supplies this might not happen as often.” Martin looked up grinning “you always have ink on you, you hypocrite”  _

_ “Yes, well…” Martin’s gaze could be quite disarming when he smiled like that, Jon glanced at his phone. “It’s getting late, should we call it a night? Or should I order food and we plough on ?” _

_ “You're the boss.” _

_ “And I’m asking you. You always tell me I work too hard and I'm sure you have better things to be doing on a Friday night.” to his credit Martin at least tried to look like he thought about it, before nodding.  _

_ “Food, I’m not letting the opportunity of you actually eating without me lecturing you slip by.”  _

_ “Then food it is.” he tried not to let the warm feeling that bloomed in his chest show on his face as he busied himself pulling the takeaway app up on his phone. “My treat, after all, I owe you one for helping me this weekend.”  _

_ “If you're sure?” Martin stretched, Jon tried to keep his eyes on the glow of the screen in his hand and not stray to the sight of Martin unfolding himself from his slump stretching as he did so like an awakening cat. _

_ Jon slid through the options, settling on a restaurant.  _

_ “Come choose.” he watched at Martin practically crawled across the floor to join him in his own fortress of paperwork, he hated to admit it but Martin had been right about spreading the work out over the floor, it did give them more space. _

_ “Oh, I haven’t had spicy food in ages, what do you recommend?” Martin was leaning into his space, looking down at Jon’s phone, this close Jon could feel the heat from his skin, smell the citrus of his hair. He tried not to think about the way that made his heartbeat just a little faster. _

_ “I’d go for a chicken curry, nothing too much unless you want to burn your face off, this place is good but they like to go a little over the top with the spice.” _

_ “Good to know, you eat from here often?” Martin was so close leaning into him he could almost feel his breath on his cheek.  _

_ “I have been known to order a crab curry when I’ve had a drink. My diet may be made up of cups of tea and subway sandwiches, but occasionally I do eat other things.” he tried to keep the smile from his face as Martin feigned insult.  _

_ “You would be dead if it wasn’t for my subway run.”  _

_ “I don’t deny that fact.” _

_ “So crab curry? Is that a thing?” _

_ “Yes, It’s one of the few dishes I can’t cook myself, I have to order it in, I’m sure my mother would be turning in her grave to know that.” Jon paused, he never spoke of his parents out loud, the little he could remember them. Yet that small fact slipped from his mouth so easy in Martins presence, like part of him wanted to share itself with him.  _

_ “You cook?” Martin's voice was soft, and even without looking Jon knew he would be staring at him with that fond expression that made Jon’s resolution to remain professional slip. _

_ “I can cook, doesn’t mean I do cook. There is a world of difference.”  _

_ The two of them sat in comfortable silence for a moment. _

_ “So I should try this Crab curry then?” Martin said finally breaking the quiet. _

_ “It’s got grapefruit in it, so I don’t think that would be a good idea.” _

_ Martin made a strange noise stuck somewhere between a sound of surprise and disappointment. _

_ “Martin?” Jon looked at him this time, Martin’s eyes studied his face. He looked sheepish. “I just know you shouldn’t have grapefruit with the medication your on, that's all.” _

_ “You know about that?” _

_ “I don’t know why you hide it if the tablets help…” _

_ “I think they do.”  _

_ “You have been living in the archives, it’s not exactly the most cheerful place…”  _

_ “I…” _

_ “I understand. Trust me if it wasn’t for Georgie and a boatload of antidepressants I would not have made it out the other side of university. I won’t judge you. However, if you don’t try the chicken curry from this place I may have to never speak to you again.”  _

_ Beside him, Martin relaxed.  _

_ “Yeah go on then.” _

  
  


_ Martin had gone to the door to collect the order, dishing the order out on to battered old archive plates and taking up residence on the floor at Jon’s side. The bottles of Lion beer stood open between them as they tucked into the piles of rice. The colour in Martin's cheeks flared as he found his way around the dish, the spice hitting him more with each mouthful. Jon tried not to find the sight endearing, but like everything that Martin did around him, it was almost impossible to ignore. The beer had been a bad idea, or maybe a good idea depending on how you looked at it. Jon knew that the last time he had gotten drunk in Martin’s presence, he had let more slip than he intended.  _

_ He never intended to tell Martin he could do better than Tim, even if he could. He could certainly do better than Jon. He could be with someone who could treat him right in all the ways he deserved. Yet Jon really couldn’t fight back this overprotective feeling that grew in his chest whenever the thought of anyone getting too close to Martin. It wasn’t a good development and it most certainly wasn’t anything he had ever felt towards another human being.  _

_ Something about the man-made the little blockades he had built up crumbles a little bit at a time. _

_ “If it’s too hot you don’t have to eat it you know?” Jon offered as he took a sip from his beer. _

_ “I’m fine, it’s good, the chicken was a good idea still, I bet the crab tastes amazing… shame about the grapefruit.” Martin sounded so genuine… _

_ “I can make it for you sometime... I mean without the grapefruit…” Oh, where had that come from? _

_ “First, I learn you can cook, now you're offering to cook for me? Should I check for tape recorders now... or?” Martin grind at him, it was a beam of a thing almost knocking Jon for six, nobody should be able to have that effect on a person. _

_ “Well the offer stands, I can bring it in… or … well…” suddenly the beer in his hand was the most fascinating thing in the world, he had almost just asked Martin to come to his flat, for a meal, that was … different. _

_ “I… I think … yeah, that would be nice.” Jon chanced a look at Martin, the harsh over headlights of the archive causing his freckles to stand out even more as his cheeks flushed, the overall look was rather pleasing. Martin’s eyes were cast down to his food, but the blush travelled up his cheeks, cupping the skin around his ear. It was nice to think the reaction was to him.  _

_ He shouldn't be so selfish, but when it came to Martin Blackwood, it was becoming harder to resist. _

Martin sunk down against the back of the door, processing the confusion and pain that pounded in his chest as well as his head. 

He remembered that night. He remembered Jon sat cross-legged and frustrated at the cataloguing system of the Usher Institute. He remembered the food, spicey and sweet at the same time… he remembered Jon watching him with curiosity. 

That was it. Curiosity. It couldn’t be anything more. 

But even so …

There was so much fondness in Jon’s memories, so much affection directed towards him…

Something settled in Martin's chest. Something heavy and clinging. 

Something he hoped Peter wouldn’t feel the next time he came into work. 

Somehow Martin didn’t think he would be that lucky.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

The tape recorder smashed against the wooden door.

He knew he shouldn’t be able to get angry like this, the lonely should distance him from this rage, but something in the way Peter had reacted to him running in to Jon...it had raised his blood pressure and he was seeing a sea of red.

‘ _ That’s what I have an assistant for…’  _ Martin tried not to think of that dead behind the eyes smile, at least Elias showed something akin to emotion. His ex boss may well be vindictive murdering bastard, but at least he looked like he enjoyed the work. Peter looked like a hollowed-out shell of a man, the smile masking something just as dark as Elias, just as capable of manslaughter. Did Peter know how to exist without that smile of his plastered on his face?

He had scooted off through the fog and Martin had felt an urge to destroy something. His eyes had fallen on the tape recorder and a second wave of anger became directed towards the supposedly inanimate object. The sight of it triggering a jumble of emotions that burned behind his eyes and in his chest he had tried for so long to bite down and bury. 

How dare Jon look at him, like he was something he missed? That Martin was anything but a minor inconvenience in his life. Yet his voice rang with concern, his eyes filled with sadness, something conveyed there that had only pinched at the edges of them before.

He prodded the tape recorder with his foot, looked down at the tattered remains, electrical parts and tape shattered, a new dent etched into the woodwork.

How did Peter serve the Forsaken and yet still have a Family? He had read the Lucas statements, filed away Jon’s tapes on the subject, they all hated each other. A family who hated each other as much as the Lucas’s did not have ‘Family business' four times this week alone.

Martin very much doubted that the ‘family business’ Peter Lucas had to attend to had anything to do with the Lucas estate and everything to do with the gold band he tried to hide on his finger. Maybe he thought Martin hadn’t noticed, maybe he thought the grip of the Lonely had taken him so much that Martin didn’t care. That Peter had dropped his guard and finally taken of the thick gloves that always covered his hands. Peter, was married. Martin knew the family line had to continue somehow, but Peter couldn’t even keep a conversation for longer than five minutes how did he… He didn’t want to think about it, yet the thought even Peter had someone hurt more than it should especially as he should be deep in the grips of the Lonely the successful heir to the Lucas dynasty. 

He replayed the conversation in his mind, had Peter dropped anything but disappointment in between the slight at Martin’s attachment to an avatar of the eye?

Nothing of import that he could think of. 

Yet the tape recorder had appeared, why? What had it wanted to know? What did it need to know about Martin having bumped in to Jon? Why had he not seen any since that day so long ago in the hospital? Yes, he still recorded statements, but that was on the recorder that had taken up residence on Elias’s old desk looking like it had always been there. The one that had clicked in to life before was an archive handheld device, the sort that would listen to everything, or at least anything it thought was useful. 

What did it care about Him and Jon? Why would it find Martin interesting at all, what did it want to know? He poked at the broken remains with his toe, aware that behind him another recorder had just clicked to life.

  
  


_ “Jon, should you really be climbing around artifact storage?” Martin watched as Jon spanned the gap between two bookcases almost half a foot above Martins head. For such a studious person, this ability was shocking.  _

_ “Well, if the cataloging wasn’t just as bad as Gertrude’s I wouldn’t need to search for things so high up would I? Not my fault everything in here is a health and safety violation.” Jon raised himself up onto the top shelf with his elbows sweeping something towards his chest before holding tight and dropping to the floor with one hand.  _

_ “You going to tell me how you turned in to the archives greatest cat burglar?” Martin was happy Jon had both feet on the floor again, the sight of him dangling from one arm had almost given him a heart attack. Jon pushed his glasses back up and shoved his hair out of his face, it really was getting long, not that Martin minded. Jon scanned the roll of paper in his hand before tucking it under his arm. Looking up at Martin he shrugged. _

_ “I was an absolute nightmare child.” he shook his head. Martin tried not to laugh and failed. _

_ “What? I was! Police record and everything.” Jon looked genuinely offended. _

_ This time Martin felt like he was sucking all the air out the room as he tried to steady himself on the bookcase, the laughter ripped through him loud and billowing in the cavernous room. _

_ “Why doesn’t anybody believe me when I tell them that?” huffed Jon heading towards the door. _

_ “Because you look and act like you were born reciting the dewy decimal system?” Martin wiped the tears of laughter from his face on his sleeve. He quickly followed close behind catching Jon up at the door.  _

_ “Never judge a book by its cover.” he smiled. _

_ “Not a chance, Might be a Litner, can’t have that.” Martin stalled before reaching out to turn the light off in artifact storage, the sudden feeling of being watched creeping up his spine, stalling the laughter. He pushed the feeling down and tried to enjoy the mental picture his brain was trying to put together of Jon Sims, the problem child. _

_ Jon lead them back towards the Archives. There steps echoing on concrete floors, filling the silence of a sleeping building empty bar them and Elias. Martin was a big enough man to say he was enjoying being the sole source of Jon’s attention. It was a warm comfort that reached him in shallow waves. Jon was opening up to him, giving a glimpse behind that solid wall of academia he liked to hide behind. Maybe Tim had been right? Maybe Jon had planned it to be like this? It seemed like a long shot, but even so Martin could have just a small bit of hope, couldn't he? _

_ “So… a police record?” Martin prodded as they headed in to Jon’s office. Jon busied himself folding out the roll of paper that Martin could now see were blueprints. He indicated for Martin to pass one of the discarded tape recorders to pin down the side of the page.  _

_ “Just a small one.” Jon mumbled under his breath as he used a mug to pin down the other side of the blueprint. _

_ “For…” Martin probed, would Jon cave? Would he share? _

_ “Mild arson… break and enter… trespassing…” Jon kept his eyes fixed on the page spread out on his desk. _

_ “All probably more useful to you in this job than GCSE maths I should imagine.” Martin wouldn’t know having not even gotten that... However it had tickled something in Jon and he laughed. That sound shouldn’t make his brain shut down as soon as hear it, yet it did, the tone resetting any anxiety built in to his chest. He really wished he could hear that sound more often. He would try to draw it from him as often as he could , now he knew it was a song sung straight to his heart.  _

_ “I think you might be right.” Jon looked up at him then, the same knowing look he had the night before when he was talking about his mother danced across his expression. Martin could tell he was trying to read something in his face. It was a shame Jon wasn’t good at reading people, it would make explaining all the strange feelings that sat in Martin’s chest a lot easier if Jon could just look and know how he felt. _

_ “You are good at that.” Jon smiled, a ghost of a thing, but it lit his face with something close to mischief.  _

_ “Good at what?” Martin still sidetracked with mind reading. _

_ “Getting me to tell you… things.” Martin felt like Jon was studying him, on the desk the tape recorder hissed as it spooled away to itself. Martin reached out and turned it off it didn’t have to record everything, it didn’t need to record this. Whatever this was. _

_ “Maybe. Or maybe it’s this thing... It’s not normal how many tape recorders there are in this place. It’s like they breed when we aren't looking ...and when was the last time you changed a battery in one?” Jon reached out sliding the offending article into his top draw, even muffled the sound of the tape clicking back on was audible. _

_ “Tape recorder aside, Thank you Martin. You didn’t have to help me this weekend.” _

_ “What was I supposed to sit on the cot and read, while you drown in badly dated American documents?” Martin’s first line of defence had always been to distance himself from thanks. He didn’t want it, didn’t deserve it. Yet he wanted to take the thanks from Jon so badly that he hated the deflection in his voice.  _

_ “The American date system really winds you up doesn’t it.” Jon’s face looked so soft looking up at him… _

_ “Not so much I need to turn to arson.” he mumbled under his breath trying to use humor to hide his discomfort. _

_ “It was only a small fire.” Jon cast his face back down to the desk, his hair falling loose from where he had swept it behind his ear. _

_ “Uh huh, so I work for a criminal, should I be alone with you? Am I safe?” Martin quizzed taking up his seat across from Jon.  _

_ Jon’s face scanned the page, but Martin could tell he wasn’t focused. He had been the same last night. Jon had little tels, and the more Martin got to know him the easier they were to read. Something was nagging at him, glancing down at his wrist he caught sight of the time, almost three, they hadn’t eaten yet , maybe that was causing Jon’s lack of focus. _

_ “So… should we burn the institute down now? Or should we wait till after lunch? Because whatever you hoped to get out of that blueprint will not jump out at you anytime soon.”  _

_ Jon slumped on to his elbows, resting his chin on his hands and looking up at him.  _

_ “It’s always food with you.” he ribbed, but Martin knew it wasn’t harsh. _

_ “That’s a lie… sometimes it Tea… and on occasions it’s coffee.” Martin looked at the blueprint now, it seemed familiar, he scanned the page. One of the early tricks he learned in job interviews was to read whatever the interviewer had before them, learning to read upside down had been a godsend. He still remembered the strange red question marks and scribbles on his interview notes as they had lay in front of Elias. He was so sure he had seen right through his lies, still was if truth be told. His eyes landed on a signature at the bottom of the page. _

_ “You won’t get far with that, if that’s a Smirke, your best bet is Tim.” _

_ Jon stood up straight reaching for the file that sat on his chair. “That would explain why we only found the one blueprint on the shelf, I didn’t realize it was a Smirke. You’re right, I’ll get Tim to look at it on Monday.” _

_ “Tuesday” _

_ “Tuesday?” _

_ “Him and Sash have a holiday on Monday, you know after the festival…” _

_ “Oh, right...I forgot.” Jon rubbed his chin thinking, Martin wished he could work out what about “So… food?” he smiled. _

_ “Can I trust you not to scale the sides of buildings?” Martin pushed himself to his feet smiling at the thought of Jon acting like some wild mountain goat running through the streets of London. _

_ “I promise I shall remain in my Peter Parker persona at all times outside of Artifact storage.”  _

_ Martin froze. He watched Jon take his coat, hearing something so out of character from Jon seemed to break him. He nipped his leg in his pocket, no Jon had just made a comic book reference, he wasn’t dreaming. The smile crept on to his face involuntarily. Tim was right, this fishing trip might just hook him something more than Tea, even if it was just a spiderman reference it drew him closer to Jon, let him see behind that bloody wall, he would take it.  _

Jon’s face haunted his mind, every time he tried to sleep he felt it forcing its way into his dreams. He had honestly thought he had mourned Jon, the man that was dead... but wasn’t. But now? Now he mourned the way he used to be, he knew he was becoming more and more detached from people. He knew he was snapping at people when they came to the office looking for guidance that Martin was not capable of providing and to make it worse he just didn’t care. He didn’t care. Why had Jon come back? It just complicated things.

Now he could feel it. 

The pain. 

It had edged its way in, first as a trickle but now it forced its way into his heart like a tidal current, wrenching him in ways he had no control over. He was lost in its pull.

He sat up. The fog nipped at him, but so did the constant feeling of being watched. He hadn’t felt that since he agreed to join Peter. He listened not to the noise of the London night but to the other noises. He could hear the distant shore of the forsaken, calling him to its empty embrace. That wasn’t what he was searching for he was listening for the sound of magnetic tape a gentle background hiss he knew he would find if he searched it out. He had once joked that the recorders would breed, nestled up in the walls, crawling on many legs like some arachnid hybrid. Tim had laughed it off as some sleep-

  
  


deprived hallucinations. But he had been right about the worms. He dreads to think what else he was right about. Reaching under his pillow he felt his hand grip around a handle. Closing his eyes and listening, he struck out with the hammer. His hand bringing it down on the tape recorder that had taken up residence on the bedside table. The crunch was satisfying. He knew it wouldn’t keep them away long but he might at least be able to get some sleep. Without turning the light on he slid the hammer back under his pillow closing his eyes.

“I’m not Beholding anymore, let me sleep… alone.” he spoke to the not so empty room. 

All was silent bar the sound of something that wasn’t really there sinking into the corners of something that never was. He got his sleep, but his dreams were not as lonely as he wished they were, in every mirror and around every corner Jon smiled, waiting for him.


	5. Chapter 5

Jon had found him. Again.

He had thought that the lonely would hide him from everyone, and it did up to a point. But ever since Jon had come back he was finding it harder and harder to put the numbing fog of the knowledge between himself and the rest of the world.

Jon just kept finding him. Jon’s memories tinged his own as Martin tried desperately to push the beholding away and embrace the Lonely. Yet Jon’s presence was like a beacon in the forsaken, a constant presence that the fog of emptiness curled around never quite touching. A constant thing that hovered in his mind's eye. Martin was unsure if that was some god’s doing or just the constant part of his heart that he had locked down desperately to pick at the lock.

Jon snuck into the office Martin had been working unannounced and straight-up called him out on his plan. 

He said that he missed him. He was worried, Martin could see it etched in every inch of the smaller man's face, his skin sunken around the eyes, the lack of sleep giving his dark skin a washed-out green tinge. Jon’s eyes were large with worry and pleading for Martin to talk to him. To come back to him. 

It had taken a considerable amount of restraint not to reach out and pull Jon in. He looked so lost, so alone and more scared than Martin had seen him in a long time, it killed him to think that some of that was because of him.

Martin replayed it in his mind. Jon standing by his desk in jeans, wearing a T-shirt and hoodie, he looked wrong. Nothing like the head archivist Martin had fallen for in his shirt and tie that scared and transfixed him in equal measures. But now that seemed like a lifetime ago. He looked smaller somehow bundled up in clothes that were far too big for him. Martin had recognised the hoodie, it was his own. Somehow that was important. Somehow the fact that Jon had something that belonged to him seemed to be as imperative to his survival as air. 

He couldn’t lose him again. He had to distance himself. Even if at the other end of this, if all Jon had left of him was a hoodie that engulfed him and memories at least he would be alive. Basira Melanie...they all would and that was all he could hope for.

It should hurt more. He knew that. But the lonely had gotten to him, maybe it always had. 

_ The red flushed his cheeks, his heart was racing. If there was one thing to make Martin feel uncomfortable it was having the entire conversation revolving around him. He had honed being on the outskirts of people’s concern down to a fine art form and this seemed to tip that scale far too much in one direction. It wasn’t that it was embarrassing, far from it, he was with the three people who meant the most to him in the world, he had friends, real friends for the first time since… well… ever. But still, it felt as if he were an imposter in somebody else's life. He felt like he was watching things unfold through someone else's eyes, this wasn’t his life, he didn’t deserve to feel happy. That just didn’t happen to Martin Blackwood. _

_ Yet here he was, tucked into the tiny window booth in the Italians around the corner from work, celebrating his birthday. With friends. Actual real friends.  _

_ The booth overlooked the rain-drenched street as the faded orange light pooled in puddles on the waterlogged street. The tiny jam jar that was on to its second candlelit the table with a warm glow, as the second bottle of red filled the glasses that scattered the table.  _

_ Sasha raised a glass “To Martin…” at his side he watched as Jon raised his glass in a salute before taking a sip, his eyes watching Martin over the rim of the glass, the corners of his smile not quite hidden. _

_ “The ones that end in zero are the worst!” Tim grinned. _

_ “And you would know old-timer.” Sasha nudged him. “ I remember when you turned thirty. There were actual tears, didn’t you say you were going to die an old bitch with too many cats?” Tim leaned into the table eyes landing on Martin. “I still don’t have a cat, but I am the number one bitch. Just so everyone is aware… next birthday I want a cat.” _

_ “You can’t be left in charge of yourself let alone an animal Tim,” Jon countered.  _

_ “Well … I’m offended.” Tim scoffed _

_ “That will be the old age.” Jon shrugged “Must be an older generation thing, getting offended easily... “ _

_ “Must be why your such a grumpy old git then is it?” Tim flashed his award-winning smile, Martin wanted to step in and defend Jon, but he was just enjoying the attention being off him for the moment. Plus Jon looked like he had the upper hand if the grin was anything to go by. He still couldn’t get used to seeing Jon look so unguarded, it didn’t happen often but as they had started to work together more and more, Jon had gradually dropped that academic wall around Martin and the others. It was worth the harsh words and the short temper to get to see him like this, his face lit up with a smile that really did lift that feeling in Martin's chest to an elation. _

_ Martin felt Jon straighten up on the chair beside him, he had slid in closer as the night had worn on and they had shared a starter, his leg nervously bumping against Martins as they both followed Tim and Sasha’s stories, happy to revel in there adventures. _

_ “Tim… how old do you think I am?” Jon tipped his head to the side resting into his elbow, did he realize he was leaning into Martin’s space quite so much? Martin vaguely catalogued the way Jon did not recoil from his closeness, but it was all masked by the curiosity that Jon’s question had spiked in his subconscious. It wasn’t that Martin cared how old Jon was, an age difference wasn’t a big thing these days, although Martin hadn’t ever really gone for the older man type, he was willing to bet he would make an exception for the man that now leaned into his question, his eyes dilated in the dim light. Martin couldn't help but think that if Jon were a cat he would be about to pounce upon his prey. _

_ "Why do I feel like this is a loaded question?" Tim glanced at Sasha, searching out an answer. It had never occurred to Martin that he had no idea how old Jon was. He supposed it was because he had lied about his own age so often in the past that age was just a number now. But now … his interest was peaked.  _

_ Tim sipped his wine, glancing at Jon. "I'd give you a few years on me at least." _

_ "Come on Stoker, how old's the boss? if you think he's got a few years on you, geriatric that you are." Sasha grinned. _

_ Tim sighed " I dunno forty?"  _

_ Jon laughed, sinking into Martin's side as Sasha put her glass down with such force the wine spilt onto to the cheap tablecloth "Miles out". _

_ Martin felt Jon's leg tapping against his own, nudging him almost affectionately. He caught Martin's eye then, almost as if trying to include him in some sort of private thought.  _

_ "So how old are you then? oh, wise sage…" Tim seemed to take it personally being on the outside of the joke that Martin was apparently now in on.  _

_ "When is your birthday again Sasha? July?" Jon asked quietly leaning away from Martin and towards her.  _

_ "Yup, I'm older than you by what? four days? " _

_ "Five, no need to rub it in."  _

_ “There is no way YOU are younger than me Jon… I call bullshit!” Tim said twisting his face up at this new knowledge. Jon chuckled at Martins side, “I think you will find I’m the youngest one here by a whole five days Tim.” Something in Martin’s mind twisted at this knowledge, Jon was younger than him? Maybe he had always known? He didn’t look it, he looked older, yet when he smiled and it reached to his eyes he looked so much younger, the years dropped off him. _

_ “You're the encyclopedia of Sims, he lying?” Tim questioned him, it was just as well they were already on to the third bottle of wine, hopefully, Jon had missed the fact that Tim seemed to think that Martin had taken him as his specialist mastermind subject. _

_ “I dunno, I don’t think he is...why would he?” casting a look at Jon he felt the smaller man knock his knee against his grinning. _

_ “I bet you a fiver he’s lying.” Tim slapped a fiver on the table, looking at Martin. _

_ “Feels like a bit of a stupid bet on your half but… go on then, I’ll take your money.” he reached into his jeans grabbing his wallet and forking a fiver on to the table.  _

_ “Balls in your court Jon.” Sasha grinned topping up her wine. “Next bottles on you Martin, birthday or not you just robbed Tim blind so it’s not like it’s your coin.”  _

_ Beside him, Jon raised himself fishing about in his back pocket for his wallet, before sinking back down and leaning into the faded candlelight while he flicked through the card slot in the folded leather. “I should have my driving licence in here somewhere, I haven’t had to use it for I.D in years, and it’s not like a drive-in London, what’s the point…” he shook his head as he pulled out a tiny square of pink plastic handing it over to Tim., who took held it like a small bomb counting down to explosion. _

_ “Oh, this was so worth a fiver…” Tim pushed the money towards Martin, the grin spreading over his face. “Check out this picture Sash!” he flashed the licence at Sasha who wolf-whistled. Even in the dim candlelight around the table, Martin could see the colour rising in Jon’s face. Sasha reached to pass the licence to him just as the food arrived at the table. Jon ducked into Martin’s side to let the server put the trays of pasta on the table, it was almost as if Jon belonged there nestled in under Martin’s arm. It was nice to have him so close, Martin almost wanted to put his arm down on his shoulders to seal the deal, but he knew that was probably a stupid idea that only seemed like the right thing because of the wine. Across the table Tim was taking a picture of his pizza, no doubt destined for Instagram, he lifted the phone “You two smile.” Neither man moved as the flash went off momentarily blinding them. “ Oh, that is a keeper.” Tim grinned showing Sasha.  _

_ “You better not put that on the internet,” Martin warned as he looked down at the plastic licence that Sasha had handed him. Jon scowled up at him, a much younger Jon. A very different Jon, shoulder-length black hair with a sweeping fringe, eyeliner… and was that a lip ring? He glanced at the date of issue, then up at Jon. There was no way that this was the same man. But Jon had told him he was a shit of a kid. “Oh, so this is the Jon with the arson conviction then?” Martin prodded, handing back the plastic and enjoying the rush of colour that pooled on Jon’s dark skin. He missed Jon’s presence instantly as he moved away to tuck his wallet back in his trousers.  _

_ “Believe me now?”  _

_ “I just didn’t picture you as an emo kid…” _

_ “Wasn’t everyone?” Jon didn’t sink back into his side. He tried not to think about how much he already missed the contact. Jon picked up his fork and began attacking the spaghetti that sat in front of him. _

  
  


Basira’s travel request sat on his desk, she would be travelling again then? Elias had a morbid fascination with the woman that Martin couldn’t understand but at least if she was away from the institute it would be one less person for him to have to worry about. He had tried to like the people who had come into the Archives, he did care about them all. Maybe he would never be friends in the way that he had been with Sasha and Tim, but he had tried,

Yet after Jon had died, he had felt ...nothing. Basira had tried to reach out to him, but he was still too battered his heart ripped out of his chest, and she too tortured, unsure if Daisy were alive or dead, stuck in limbo so close to his own that he had no idea how to comfort her as his own being held together by thin threads of hope that broke with each day that passed. 

The sounds of the institute were muffled against the fog that lapped under his door, his mind searching out the sound of tape recorders. 

Was the Jon he knew, really the Jon he had Known? He was the same… but at the same time, he was different, he didn’t dress the same, he didn’t sound the same, his voice soft in a way that … No, Jon could be soft. Martin walked to the long mirror in the corner of Elias’s office, looking at the man that stood there, who was he to talk? He didn’t look the same, Martin would never have worn a smart shirt and a waistcoat to work before, his hair even though still messy no longer streaked with the many coloured dyes that once hid amongst the now tamed curls. His eyes seemed almost as sunken as Jon’s now that he looked, the dark bags highlighting the fact that the bright green that used to stare back at him now flecked with an edge of the grey. A grey that he had seen haunting the eyes of the man that already served the Lonely. Maybe he was this all along and he just hadn’t realized.

Maybe he had always been the monster he was slowly changing into and he hadn’t realized until he had nothing left to hide from.

  
  


_ “-so I said, you can’t put that THERE, and she slapped me.” Martin watched as Jon paid the barman, he was only half-listening to the story, he had heard so many of Tim’s crazy adventures that they all started to blur into each other after a while. They had moved on to the bar closer to the tube stop, the intention had been that they were going to go for a nightcap before going separate ways. However, that had been over an hour ago and it looked like the night was not going to end any time soon. There would be little work done tomorrow in the basement, not unless the hangover gods were feeling forgiving. The amount of tequila and whiskey, not to mention the several bottles of wine were not adding the odds in their favour. Martin was on the very good side of drunk, he wished he could stop watching Jon, but to his credit, Jon seemed to be enjoying the attention. The topic of the night had swiftly turned to talk of the university, a subject that Martin had tried to deflect. The photo from Jon’s driving licence had caught Tim’s attention almost as much as it had Martin’s and he didn’t seem to want to drop the subject of what undoubtedly was a rather attractive nineteen-year-old Jon.  _

_ “So, anything else we should know about the double identity you have then?” Tim drape an arm around Jon’s shoulders, surprisingly Jon did not shove him off “What with the eyeliner and that side swipe you almost looked like you should have been in a band.”  _

_ Jon was a moment to slow to disagree, sipping on his jack and coke, he tried not to look at anything but the ice cubes in his glass.  _

_ “SHUT THE FRONT DOOR!” Tim practically squealed. “You were … you were in a band! Martin your birthday is the gift that keeps giving!”  _

_ Martin watched as Tim swung Jon around to face him, “Oh, please tell me you were the bass player…” he held up Jon’s hand looking closer at his fingers… “ no not a bass player…disappointing” Martin tried his best not to laugh, but it was quite endearing watching Jon act so laid back under Tim’s examination. Martin tried not to pay any attention to the little voice that was shouting at the sight of Tim touching Jon. He wasn’t sure where the voice was finding its words, through jealousy or admiration. Either way, he didn’t think letting it speak aloud would be a good idea. Tim reached up to Jon’s hair pushing the neat length out from behind his ear and draping it across one eye. To his credit Jon let him, just sipping on his drink and passing the second one to Martin with a roll of his eyes. “Singer… you were the singer… in a band in uni… Sasha… the boss was an emo singer in a band… give me your eyeliner now.”  _

_ Martin watched in horror as Sasha rummaged in her bag and handed a black pencil over to Tim. His face looked like the last thing someone would see before getting killed by a serial killer, a huge grin wrapped from ear to ear. However, Jon seemed resigned to his fate and after almost losing an eye to Tim he plucked the pencil from his hand and lent towards the mirrored tiles behind the table where they sat applying the line with more skill than anyone had any right to with that amount of alcohol in their system.  _

_ Tim nodded in approval before grabbing Martin's hoodie from the table and throwing it at Jon, who shrugged, slipping the dark red material over his head. Something in Martin's chest pulsed violently, he was drunk, and Jon standing there in his clothes covered in ‘him’ it was doing very strange things to the impulses he normally kept under wraps.  _

_ He was thankful when Sasha sat herself down on one of his knees with her phone camera to take a picture, she lined up Jon with the light shining just behind his head. “Oh … now that is the Myspace picture if ever there was one. I expect to be promoted to top eight minds.” she showed Martin the picture. “Don’t worry, I’ll send you it,” she whispered in his ear. “Come on you two, I want birthday selfies.” she gestured to Tim and Jon. Next thing he knew he had a lap full of Tim . Jon dragged into arms range for a photo. Jon nudged Martin along the chair making room for himself wobbling the entire pile of bodies, Martin instinctively reached out to grab Jon before he toppled on to the sticky floor, grabbing him around the waist. Jon’s face flushed again, he looked like he was about to say something just as Sasha shouted “cheese.”  _

_ There was a series of faces pulled in various poses under duress until Sasha was happy with the outcome. Tim removed himself from Martin’s knee after he complained he had a ‘boney arses’ and Tim took offence. Jon, however, didn’t move, he didn’t even fidget under Martin’s hold, tucking his arms through the pouch on the front of the hoodie, his fingers brushing against Martins where he held him in place. Martin tried not to react, but the gentle touch was drawing his full attention. A side glance showed that Jon was deliberately looking the other direction watching Tim and Sasha argue with the Bartender about the fact that he had called last orders. Martin followed his line of sight avoiding the temptation to rest his head on Jon’s, Jon was so slight Martin’s arm reached around him with little effort, it would be remarkably easy to just pick him up, he couldn’t weigh much, He tried not to think about it, how easy it would be to lean in, just catch Jon’s lips in his own… _

_ “WE ARE GOING CLUBBING!” Sasha announced, shoving her phone into Martin’s face as she returned empty-handed from the bar.  _

_ “It’s a school night sash is that a good idea?” He said trying to bring the phone in to focus and desperately wishing he had picked up his glasses on the way out the archives, he made out a back to the oo’s logo before the phone was snatched away again.  _

_ “It’s your birthday if Jon says it’s ok… it's ok!” she draped herself around the two of them, her eyes glancing down at the point where Jon nestled into Martin’s side, She smiled but didn’t mention anything.  _

_ “I haven’t been clubbing since uni.” Jon pepped up.  _

_ “Really? You surprise me.” Sasha kept her sarcasm to a minimum. “Come on, Let’s go dance…!” _

_ Jon shrugged looking up at Martin. His eyes large and dilated, was that from the alcohol, the low light or something else? Every single part of Martin wanted to find out. “Well, you're dressed like it’s 2005 we might as well make the most of it !” God, he wanted to kiss Jon so much right now. “Plus it’s my birthday… “ _

_ “That settles it… Come on Tim!” Sasha dropped the pair of them, heading over to the bar tugging Tim away from the bartender he was busy trying to convince to part with one last bottle from behind the bar. _

_ “Where we off?”  _

_ “Out out” _

  
  


_ The good thing about London was the fact that everything was in walking distance, or if failing that there was always the tube. So a short walk had led them to the station, Jon huddled in on himself walking ahead with Sasha as Tim fell back while Martin loaded money onto his oyster card. Tim lent on the ticket machine grinning at Martin like a man possessed.” _

_ “And?”  _

_ “And what?” _

_ “Don’t play stupid with me birthday boy. What’s going on with you and Sims.” Tim looked at him from under hooded eyes, how much of tonight would they all remember in the morning? He wanted to think it would be all of it, but he had a feeling the cut off point had already passed.  _

_ “It’s complicated?” Martin hooked Tim by the arm and headed towards the barrier, Sasha and Jon stood on the other side waiting, Jon still bundled in Martin’s hoodie swamped in the fabric, Sasha had stolen Jon’s thick winter coat on the way out the pub and was refusing to give it back. Secretly Martin had a feeling that she was doing it on his behalf, maybe she liked seeing him unable to function at the sight of Jon, actually, he was certain that it was probably exactly that.  _

_ They made it to the platform in a record amount of time, Tim sliding down the central device on the escalator, prompting the station guard to chase them, all four of them rushing as they piled onto the train just as the doors slid shut. Tim wrapped himself around the central pole hunched over in laughter with tears streaming down his face. Sasha hung from his arm sucking in lungfuls of air as she struggled to compose herself between being out of breath and laughing at Tim. somewhere in the carriage someone loudly tutted, an achievement over the rhythmic clatter of the tube, this only set the two of them off further as the train jerked into life. Jon fell back into Martin's chest his back resting against him as he leaned against the rest by the doors, instinctively his arm fell around his waist, Jon shifted getting a better footing but not moving away. Martin could feel the gentle chuckle against his ribs, but Jon was staying put. The two stops were far too quick when they fell out onto the platform the smell of Cigarettes and Ciderwood lingered as Jon helped Sasha mind the gap. _

_ The club was too loud, or maybe Martin was just not used to the idea of so many people in the same place at the same time. He hovered in the private area Tim had managed to brag with his charm, he moved in time with the music but you would hardly call it dancing.  _

_ He had never really gone clubbing before, between work and looking after his mother he had done little in the way of having a life. This was nice, if not a little overwhelming. He had a feeling Jon felt the same just as awkward and out of place. Jon came back from the bar looking flustered. He almost looked relieved to be handing Martin a drink, something comfortable and familiar in the background of the strange, brushing his hair back behind his ear, he smiled leaning in to talk. Jon had to stand on his tiptoes to reach Martin's ear, it was almost automatic when he reached down to support Jon’s elbow as he did so. “This isn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be.” Jon’s words tickled as he spoke loudly, close to Martin’s ear, his mouth so close he could feel his words on his neck and smell the cheap house measures on his breath.  _

_ “It could have been worse the companies not all that bad. At least Sasha and Tim are having fun.” leaning in to speak to Jon didn’t help the mild panic attack he was currently having, he tried not to think about what would happen if he just lent in now and caught that little pulse point under Jon’s ear with his lips. He pulled back suddenly, dragging his eyes to the dancefloor searching out his so-called wingmen. He tried to ignore Jon, but it was getting harder, in the space of the last few hours Jon seemed to have moved into his orbit. Hovering around him like a satellite, it was nice to be the centre of Jon’s attention. He could get used to it. He sipped at his drink humming along to the music, watching as Tim reigned supreme on the dance floor. _

_ Martin hadn’t even noticed that he was moving on the spot again in his pale impersonation of a dance. He caught Jon staring at him, his lips were moving as he sang along to the music coming from the loudspeakers. Jon stepped towards him, knocking into his side as he swayed to the happy music that sung of sadness and pain. Martin knew he must look like a lovesick puppy right now, but right now, he didn’t care. He studied Jon’s face, watching as his lips formed vowels, wrapping chapped lips around words that had fallen from memory long ago, but danced on the tip of the tongue as if just sung yesterday.  _

_ He had been caught staring, Jon worried his bottom lip but the smile spoke to Martin through the way the lights in the club reflected in hungry eyes. _

_ “What?” Jon lent in to speak trying to raise his voice over the bass, but every time he spoke it seemed to be in time with the next beat. After four attempts he gave up, resting his forehead on Martin's shoulder as he shook with laughter into the fold of his neck. _

_ They stood like that for a moment, Jon tucked into him, Martin unsure what to do with his hands while Jon amused himself laughing at his private joke. When there was a gap in the Music he shifted raising himself to his tallest and leaning into Martin’s ear again to speak. “I said … it’s rude to stare.”  _

_ “Wasn’t staring.” Martin shifted slightly so his cheek was against Jon’s, skin prickling wherever it touched. “I was observing, Trying to imagine what you looked like with the piercings, that’s all.”  _

_ “Troubled and unsightly if my Gran was to be believed.” _

_ “Hum, I doubt it, too handsome to be unsightly anyway.” oh shit had he said that out loud? he had hadn’t he.  _

_ “Not bad yourself ” Jon whispered into his ear, it was almost too quiet to be audible but he caught it just as the music kicked back in. Jon must have noticed Martin freeze up because he pulled away quickly, Martin cast him a glance and saw him worrying at his lip again. Now he looked, he could see the barely-there mark from a long removed piercing and he realized he was staring again. He could do the decent thing and stop but he couldn’t stop it now he had started, he stepped into Jon’s space, leaning in to speak, making sure that he was as close to his ear as possible. “You should get it pierced again, give Elias a heart attack.” Jon laughed, taking an opportunity to down his drink in one. Martin copied, one eye on Jon, watching as he chewed at his bottom lip. Not for the first time, he wondered what stupid twist of fate had led him to have such a stupidly large crush on the one person he couldn’t have, yet the way Jon reacted, the way he flushed under the intense gaze that Martin seemed unable to restrain from… he was beginning to think that it wasn’t neciserialy entirely one-sided. Not any more.  _

_ Just how much trouble would he be in, if he did act on this, just lean in and take Jon for his own? He couldn’t help wonder if that was exactly the thought that rocked around Jon’s head as he watched him now.  _

_ The gap between them small, although they were alone as the rest of the club, went on around them. It was like slow torture but it hurt in all the right kind of ways. Jon smiling at him like that was a glue applied directly to his fractured heart. He could get used to it, he wanted to get used to it.  _

_ Jon nudged him his eyes casting over to the dancefloor "I think Tim wants you." Jon nodded in Tim's direction.  _

_ "Tim needs to get over it," Martin muttered to himself as he stepped out of the comfort of Jon's space and towards the dance floor. He was surprised when Jon moved with him following his path on to the dancefloor as some anthem he knew the words to but didn't know how blasted around them. As they drew closer Sasha pounced dragging Jon into her one-person mosh pit as Tim decided and conquered, his hands grabbing at Martin's neck as he threw himself around him planting a kiss on his cheek. _

_ "I saw you snuggling up with the booooooossss" Tim slurred into his skin. "You and your younger man … I better be best man … I promise not to shag the bridesmaids or the groom. Can I walk you down the aisle? Can I wear pink? You two are so cute."  _

_ Martin rolled his eyes as Tim tried to spin him under his arm in a dance move that didn't go with the music and almost floored a group of twenty-year-olds who glared at the old intruder on their dance floor.  _

_ Tim didn't care. He just lived his life. He didn't let things like rules hold him back, he lived in the moment. Maybe he should try and be more like Tim.  _

_ Next thing he knew he had an arm full of Sasha, she hung around his neck like a drunken marionette, glasses askew and voice singing along at full pelt. She swung them around in time to the music as Tim swapped Martin out for Jon twirling him into his arms and practically raising Jon off the floor.  _

_ "Hoy loverboy eyes on me!" Sasha squealed tightening her grip. "Tim knows Jon's off the table don't worry." Martin smiled as she messed up his hair. "You two are going to be the death of me, honestly, will you please just …" she threw her hands up in the air as Tim stepped towards them, grabbing Sasha by the arm and placing Jon's hand in Martin's… _

_ "Hello again."  _

_ Jon rolled his eyes ."Tim and Sasha have strong opinions on many things." He huffed adjusting his grip on Martin's hand lacing his fingers into Martin's as their hands fell to his side, Martin grinned pulling him in as they swayed to the music just not necessarily in time. Jon’s hands fit in his rather nicely, he could get used to it. He wanted to get used to it. _

_ "Tim and Sasha opinionated? Never!” Martin shouldn’t get his hopes up, they were both very drunk. There was a good chance that both of them would regret it in the morning, but Martin would hang on to this as much as he could, even if this moment only existed in his memories, a faded and slightly blurred dream.  _

_ Jon stood up on his tiptoes again leaning into him, steadying himself by placing his free hand against Martin's chest, Martin’s skin tingled where his fingers touched. Jon was rather charming like this, so open. Martin tried to ignore the sight of Sasha and Tim’s over-animated encouragement behind Jon’s back. Turning his attention fully to the man he was hopelessly in love with who was leaning in to speak to him, his eyes dilated as he scanned Martins face “I really want to kiss you, but I’m very very drunk right now.”  _

_ “Well, that makes the two of us.” Martin sighed, searching Jon’s dark-rimmed eyes for any sign of untruth. Jon looked away first, glancing down at where his hand lay on Martin’s chest. _

_ “I’m notoriously shit at this sort of thing.”  _

_ “You too? Oh good, let’s be shit at it together then.” Martin squeezed Jon’s hand, causing him to look up at him “Maybe when a little less pissed?”  _

_ “You owe me a curry!” _

_ “I do owe you a curry.” Jon stifled a yawn, a pang of guilt shot through Martin, Jon hadn’t exactly been sleeping great and here he was out at three am, drunk, wanting to kiss him… no, that last bit was for sober Martin to worry over. Right now drunk Martin could do the right thing and take a very sleepy, very gorgeous archivist home so he could sleep it off. _

_ “Tim, Sash, we're off…” he shouted, Tim’s face lit up with mischief.  _

_ “Oh, you are, are you?” Tim wagged an eyebrow. _

_ “Yes, I need to get this drunken bum to bed.”  _

_ “Betcha do!” Sasha didn’t even pretend to be ashamed as she bounced across the room, scooping them both in a hug. “Love you, you handsome boys, be good, and Martin…” she kissed him on the cheek. “Happy birthday.” _

  
  


He figured that the Instagram of a dead friend, well, dead friends... was lonely enough that Peter wouldn’t drag him over the coals for it. He curled in a ball on his bed flicking through Sasha’s old Instagram feed, now he knew Sasha had been not Sasha he could see the false Sasha staring back at him. He skipped past the fake Sasha’s life until he found the pictures he was looking for. He didn’t want to remember.

But now, now he needed to remember, even if he should be forgetting. The picture of him and Jon hit him like a smack to the face. That small slice of happiness seemed so long ago. They had walked back to the archives that night, easier than trying to hail a taxi or find a night bus. Jon had walked with his arm tucked into Martin’s complaining that it was cold as he had pulled the hoodie closer to him. He was always cold back then. He wondered if he still ran cold or if he burned in that same strange way that Elias did? Martin hadn’t noticed it before he started serving the one alone, but he noticed it now. 

Would that just be another thing to miss? Jon had looked so at rest as he had curled up on the cot in the archives, Martin had just watched him until he had fallen asleep, before heading into the break room and napping on the couch. The next day he had the worst hangover of his life and he couldn’t remember anything after leaving the Pub. Parts of it slowly pieced themselves back together over the following week through snippets of remembered conversation and the ever-looming presence of Instagram. Life returned to normal, although that feeling of something missing hung between him and Jon, they never mentioned the hoodie that Jon had taken to wearing in his office when he stayed late or that Jon’s contact picture in Martin’s phone changed to the one with him wearing the same hoodie and looking happy and smiling. Martin took a screenshot, saving the image to his phone, he knew he shouldn’t but as Peter had said, love could be one of the loneliest things in the world, this seemed to prove it.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


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	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quarantine made me want to come back and write more since I got asked for it so here I am once quarantine let me get past my writers' block, the voices in my head are the only ones that talk to me these days.

Martin could hear the coffin. Its tones floating through an empty building louder than it had the right to. It sung when it rained, he knew that, he had listened to the tape, back when the idea of something like a cursed coffin had been high on the list of bizarre and not merely a footnote. Now with the rain pounding hard against the windows of the office as night crept ever onwards it sung like a siren song through the institute. He followed it now, the tape recorder that had appeared on the couch next to his head where he had been trying to get some sleep was now wrapped in his hand. a voice that sounded an awful lot like Jon’s reverberated around his mind,  _ I don’t want to die a mystery.  _ He tightened his grip as he moved forwards towards the melody that called to him.

The coffin sat in the pale moonlight looking like it had just been left there like a prop from a low budget haunted house, the chains scattered the floor, tendrils stretching out over the old and worn office carpet. It almost looked as if it could use them to crawl itself towards him should it see fit, dragging itself forward on metallic legs like something from a long-forgotten nightmare. He moved carefully aware that the singing had stalled as he moved across the threshold. It was listening. It took longer than it should have for him to notice what was wrong with the tableau before him, the chains had been removed, the lock was open, someone had gone inside.

Basira?

No Basira was at the other side of the world, he had signed the travel papers himself, and who was he kidding, there was only one person who would be stupid enough to plunge headfirst through a gateway into a fear gods dominion of there own stupidity. 

Jon. 

What had the stupid headstrong impulsive idiot gone and done this time. As soon as he thought it the coffin started singing, louder this time, it echoed in his ears and vibrated in his chest although he knew nobody else would be able to hear it, it sang just for him. The coffin wanted him to follow Jon, and part of him wanted to, it wanted to open the lid and try to find him, it called to him from behind the wall of the lonely. 

Before he knew it he had moved , one hand resting upon the wooden lid, it was cool to the touch and it hummed, the feeling coursing through him like tiny shocks of electricity. He could almost feel Jon calling out to him through the layers of dirt that he knew the coffin contained, that was when he saw the bone. Then he didn’t need to investigate, some part of him knew straight away what it was, that ever clinging knowledge that the eye insisted on giving him, the same one that nagged to tell him when Jon was about to do something gargantuan stupid, it provided the details of that rib, and how it came to be very much not in the inside of Jon’s body where he very much knew it should still be. Stupid foolish headstrong idiot. How did he think that was going to help him? In Martin's hand the tape recorder hissed and spat.

“What do you want ? a statement? I'll give you a statement … statement of Martin Blackwood regarding the fact that the man I love is trying to bloody kill me…” the coffin groaned and the tape hissed. “Jon?” in his hand the tape recorder rewound of its own accord playing back the faint almost non-existent sound of his own voice, the coffin vibrated, and the tape gave out an almost happy yell, scratching its tendrils across the speaker heads. Martin continued speaking his eyes drawn to the strange vibration of the coffin as his voice filled the now silent room. The coffin was listening, it had no need for the song it sang , it didn’t like whatever effect the statement was having upon it’. Martin placed the recorder down on the lid, it spooled back his words to him, the coffin shuddered under the movement, something scratching now and moaning quietly against the lid. 

It didn’t like it.

Jumping to his feet and heading deeper into the archives, he moved quickly, scanning his old desk for the countless tape recorders that seemed to have been breeding in the draw in his absence, he scooped them into an old storage box, moving to pull some of the tapes from the stacks, not particularly paying attention to the subject matter, he needed statements, real ones. whatever Jon was now, he needed the tapes, they would get him out, he didn’t know how, but somehow it would work, Martin was sure of it. He moved on to the other desks in the office, pushing the tapes he found there into his box, moving swiftly. Why would Jon do something as stupid as going into the coffin and not tell anybody? Why hadn’t he … but he had, hadn't he. Jon had come to him, tried to tell him that Daisy was alive… and Martin had chased him, chased and bit and pushed him away, if only he had listened, if only, and Jon had waited till Basira was at the other side of the world before he went on yet another stupid quest. Had he talked to her about it? He couldn’t imagine Basira would be a fan of this plan. If this had even been a plan and not just one of Jon’s stupid spur of the moment schemes. 

Martin clicked on the first recorder and placed it beside the one that had appeared in his office, a second voice joined his own, mixing and buzzing on the night air. The moaning and scratching intensified from inside the coffin and he knew he was on the right track. Third and fourth recorders were added to the pile, voices he didn’t recognise… until he did, the sound hitting him like a collision at a hundred miles a hour and winding him so he couldn’t breathe.

_ Tim was grinning. Or at least as close to what he called a grin these days, more of a grimace, he didn’t grin quite as wide, and the sparkle wasn’t quite as bright in his eyes ever since the worm attack. But the look on his face now was the closest thing that Martin had seen since Tim had returned to work. It wouldn’t last long but it was good to see it. Tim’s eyes had flicked to Sasha’s desk first, looking for her to share the private joke, his smile fell slightly when he noticed the vacant chair, the upturn of his lip only still hanging in there when he came to position himself on the edge of Martin’s desk. _

_ “You and the boss on a break?” he asked, helping himself to a sweet from the mason jar that Martin had placed on his desk . Martin could feel his face flushing, but he remained composed. Tim had been trying to get the truth out of him since his birthday, not that there had been much to tell, but that nugget of information was not for sharing, despite the fact that he would like nothing more than to shout it from the rooftops, he couldn’t be sure what Jon remembered and he didn’t want to embarrass him. So he resolved not to share it even if Tim was constant with his investigations. It was getting easier to do now, even if his mind kept floating back to Jon and the way he had looked at him. The way he had wanted to just grab him and protect him as the worms had crashed up against the door. The way he had held him as he struggled to put weight on his leg after the worms were removed, that feeling of being wanted to be something he clung on to even now as Jon’s paranoia got the better of him.  _

_ He stayed away from document storage, not because of the worms, but because of the way last time he and Jon had sat together on the tiny cot, Jon had spent half an hour drunkenly telling him he was like the sun, bright and wonderful. Whenever the guilt of losing him in the tunnels plagued him, Martin tried to recall that memory, dancing with Jon, wrapped in his own embrace, how close they had come to being something different, something more. Before he had changed everything. Finding Gertrude's body. The hard cold panic that filled Jon now whenever he looked at Martin hurt, driving a wedge between them that had seemed to force Jon back into that cold hard shell Jon hid within after his promotion. The smile that had found its way to Jon’s face when Martin brought him Tea, was now replaced with distrust. The edge had returned to Jon’s voice and it cut sharper than any knife. Each ‘ come in’ twisting the blade deeper.  _

_ All this rushed through Martin’s head in the time it took to roll his eyes at Tim, but the gesture was wasted, Tim’s eyes had fallen on Sasha’s vacant desk, the grin now completely gone. He seemed to spend more time staring at an empty desk these days than he did work, only working when Sasha returned from wherever it was she disappeared for hours on end. _

_ “What are you on about?” Martin asked trying to bring Tim back from whatever and wherever his mind had gone.  _

_ “Did you know about him and the copper?”  _

_ “Copper?” _

_ “Yeah, the hypocrite! After all the stick he gives me.” Tim helped himself to another sweet, taking his time to unwrap the pastel pink wrapper slowly, before flicking it at bin by Sasha’s desk it missed by a long shot, he got to his feet retrieving the wrapper from the desk, pausing to look at the photo that has recently been added to Sasha’s collection. Martin tried not to see his own pain echoed on Tim’s face. _

_ “Officer Hussain?” Martin could feel the dread growing in the chasm that had once been his chest. _

_ “Apparently, these are ‘personal visits’.” Tim looked up at him this time “Sorry bud.” he looked genuine but it was hard to tell these days, ever since the worms Tim’s confidence had fallen, conscious of the way people looked at him different with a face and arms covered in small silver scars, he tried to hide it with bravado, but Martin saw straight through it. Tim wasn’t the same. Yet the sincerity in his voice at delivering this news to Martin rang true, he was concerned.  _

_ “Jon …” Martin’s eyes darted to the office door that Tim had just vacated. The muffled voices blocked by the blinds drawn tightly across the windows. That sinking feeling grew in him, the one where the world seemed to become increasingly dark, that light that had been Jon fading into the darkness around him as something grew and took its place, something dark and bitter dampened only by the hopeless emptiness that encapsulated it.  _

_ He knew he had been a fool to think that Jon’s laps had been anything other than the influence of far too much to drink. But still, Jon had seemed so true in his words, they had flowed from him as freely as any of the statements he spoke in the confines of his office. The words had settled in his heart and they had taken root. Jon had wanted to kiss him, to hold him and if Martin hadn’t been so damn adamant he was going to be a gentleman… _

_ Tim broke him from memory “I thought the two of you…” he nodded in a knowing way .. “You know…” _

_ Martin sighed, sinking into his chair partly wishing the world would open a pit under the basement floor so he could climb into it and die quietly, not in front of Tim.  _

_ “Well, you're wrong.” The pen in his hand pressed so hard into the paper that it cracked the plastic, the ink started seeping across the paper, Martin didn’t move to stop it, his eyes watching as the splodge crept like blood blotting out the words. _

_ Tim pulled his desk chair over sitting as close as possible nudging Martin until he looked up at him. Martin didn’t want to talk about it, about how stupid he had been to have hope, he tried to ignore the man beside him so adamant to get his attention. When he finally looked up to Tim he expected to see pity on his face, not the look of worry and anger that plastered his friends face.“Did you strike out? Did I fail you as a wingman? Were we wrong? Is he straight? Has he always been banging the cops? I need details.” the questions were endless now the damn had been uncorked.  _

_ Martin sighed, looking up at the clock it was nearly half four, he cast a glance at the closed office door and then back at Tim. _

_ Tim, who was hurting just as much as he was, whose eyes kept falling to the empty space that Sasha should be in, mind loitering on the missed lunches and movie nights as Sasha spent time with her new man. This was too much to unpack, not when the two antagonists to their pain were so obvious on every surface around them, a voice on the other side of a locked door.  _

_ Martin offered Tim a weak smile. “I think we have both failed a bit in the wingman department haven’t we?” He muttered leaning into the hug that Tim offered up. _

_ “We both failed, hard.” Tim agreed somewhere near Martin's ear.  _

_ “I’m not doing this here… pub?” _

_ “Thought you would never ask …” _

“Statement of Joe spooky, regarding…” Tim’s voice filled the air, mingling with the other voices, how many of the voices that filled his mind now had died because of them? Because of the institute? Because of some stupid end game that had no point but to pull fear into the real world and snuff out the light, Tim hadn’t deserved the hand he was dealt, he didn’t choose to be caught up in all this, he had been lured in by the stranger, caught up in the web of lies and deceit, double-crossed and burned and twisted until the person that had been Tim, had been Martin’s friend was but a memory caught on tape. The coffin scratched and Martin’s resolve doubled down. He would not lose anyone else to these fears if he could help it. As the sound of someone who was definitely not Sasha filled the air, he turned and headed back into the archives, pausing only for a moment before the heavy wooden door that led to Jon’s office before pushing it open.

_ The woman by the bar had been staring for the best part of the night, in a way that made Martin become increasingly protective of the man at his side.  _

_ To see Tim anything less than his confident self was upsetting. Tim had always been a constant, a positive force to be reckoned with, but now? He was avoiding eye contact with all but Martin and even the workers behind the bar had mentioned he didn’t seem himself. Martin didn’t mind too much the way Tim seemed to hang from him now, the alcohol making him clingy in the way normally reserved for Sasha, it felt strange to think that even in his low point Tim found sanctuary in his friendship, even if he had to bury his own pain deep to support the only person he had left to call a friend, he could do this, he could be here for Tim even if his own heart was breaking with every thought of the archives and Jon with someone else. _

_ They were at the bottom of what could now comfortably be called one pint too many, Martin had all but given Tim a blow by blow account of what had happened after his birthday party. Tim nodded in all the right places, groaning at Martin’s lack of action.  _

_ “Mate, I honestly thought you two had hooked up, Sasha owes me a fiver. I was so sure you were a done deal. You and the Big Boss Man, the nerdiest love story ever told…” Tim rambled, one arm linked in with Martin’s own, they had forgone their normal booth, too many memories that would be better off buried, for tonight at least.  _

_ “Well this storey ended up a tragedy,” Martin looked up the bar to try and flag down a bartender when his eyes fell on something that would be better left ignored, _

_ Pulling Tim to his feet, he got to his own. _

_ “We off?” Tim asked quietly. _

_ “Yeah, it’s still a school night” Martin nodded, directing him away from the front doors where he had just seen Sasha walk in with her new group of friends, all tall, all ridiculously good looking. Tim didn’t need to see it, not when he was already low. Tim was here for Martin, it only made sense that he be there for Tim in the same way. He had thought he knew Sasha better than this, Tim was hurting and her attitude towards him seemed to be rubbing salt in the wound.  _

_ Tim wobbled a little as he got to his feet. “Come on Tim, I think you have had enough, let's get you home.” _

_ “You just want to get me to yourself, Mr Blackwood,” he grinned pointing to his scarred face. “Herd you think worm scars are sexy.” _

_ “They're a little bit sexy, yes.” Martin humoured him, trying to get him towards the door without looking around too much. _

_ “Knew you would come round to my charm eventually.” Tim’s grin almost looked genuine as he hooked Martin around the waist. Martin tried not to register how nice it felt to have someone holding him, even if it was just harmless drunk flirting with Tim to keep him distracted it was nice, this was nice. Why did he have to be so hung up on Jon?  _

_ “Ah, you know me Tim, both ends of the spectrum, grumpy science teacher to … whatever it is you are this week.” _

_ “I can be a grumpy science teacher if you like? The boiling point of acid is twenty-seven degrees Fahrenheit … it takes five geese to decompose a deer in Lyme over the space of seven days…. I made that shit up, but did it work?” He looked hopeful. _

_ “I would swoon … but I would probably drop you…” _

_ Martin had almost gotten Tim to the side door when he spotted Sasha in the mirror behind the bar. Tim stalled, his hand falling to grab at Martin’s wrist. Martin let himself be tugged towards the crowd gathered by the main doors. Tim’s face was set. Martin hadn’t seen Tim this angry since Elias told Sasha she hadn’t gotten the promotion. But even then the anger had paled in comparison to the rage that radiated off him now. He barged up to Sasha, glaring at the man that stood at her side. It could have been her new boyfriend, but if Martin was honest, he wouldn’t have been able to pick him out of the crowd, they all looked the same. _

_ “Happy?” He asked her, venom oozed in his voice.  _

_ Sasha didn’t blink. She shrugged, taking a step back and lifting her wine to take a sip. This seemed to anger Tim even more; it vibrated up Martin's arm where he gripped it. _

_ “You don’t even like wine,” he growled as Martin pulled him towards the door. Sasha shrugged again, turning to talk to the nearest of the identical clones, acting as if her two best friends weren't even there. _

_ “Come on Tim, let's get you home.” Tim fought back but Martin had the size advantage, hooking him around the waist and dragging him out before they caused any more of a spectacle.  _

_ The cold air did nothing to sober them up as they trudged along the street, Tim periodically kicking at black bags and discarded boxes in frustration. Martin trailed him a few steps behind watching for police and trying to stop him from doing any damage to other people's property, or himself. A string of profanities fell from his lips as one final black bag was kicked into the street startling a fox that narrowly missed getting hit by an uber. The fox's aggravated yelping seemed to trigger something in Tim, he stopped, looked up at the sky and then stepped back on to the stoop of the empty building at the end of the street. Tim held his head in his hands and his whole body was shaking. _

_ Martin dropped to his side. One hand gently placed in the small of the other man's back. _

_ “Tim?” _

_ It took a few moments but eventually, the man looked up, resting his head sideways on his knee so he could look at Martin, the hurt was evident in his red-rimmed eyes. Sasha shunning him was the last straw. He was broken.  _

_ “You still love me don’t you Martin? Freaky scars and all… your not gonna leave me for a catalogue model.” his voice was broken, fractured and frail, Martin pushed the hair away from his face so he could see him better, Tim moved into the touch, seeking comfort.  _

_ “Not going anywhere unless you tell me to fuck off,” that at least got him the laugh he so desperately wanted to hear. Tim nudged himself closer to the warmth Martin provided.  _

_ “We came out to drink your sorrows and here we are in my misery, I really am sorry about Jon you know, he really doesn’t deserve you, the prick.” Tim smiled at him now, a timid thing, even if his eyes were still red-rimmed, somehow calling Jon a prick always seemed to put a smile on his face, it was such a handsome face, always had been, the scars just added to it in Martin’s opinion. “Yeah well, apparently Jon heard the saying ‘fuck the police’ and went with it.” the words stung as he said them, the tiny part of his hope snuffed out with the words as they floated on the night air. He choked back the sob that threatened to escape. “How could I get it so wrong? Is there something wrong with me? Am I that unlovable?” _

_ Tim moved to comfort him, leaning in and resting his hand on Martin’s back, his head on his shoulder. _

_ “Martin, your lovability factor has never been under question, you are incredibly lovable, and sweet, and handsome, and sweet. Did I already say that? Jon’s just a moron. Him and Sasha are both idiots. Why don’t they want us? “ _

_ “At least we have each other?” _

_ “Damn right we do.” _

_ Tim pulled him into another hug, his face pressing to his neck, warm breath pulling Martin into his space, it would be easy to fall into this, he could feel the cogs turning in Tim’s mind. It would be comfortable, the two of them losing themselves in something pointless and messy to bounce back from rejection. But what was in that for them in the end? More hurt?  _

_ Tim pulled away from the hug, shaking his head to clear the thought that had obviously crossed his own mind.  _

_ “What are we like hu? Sitting here moping over two people who don’t deserve us, let Sasha have her Instagram model, let Jon have his bobby in blue… we don’t need them.” Tim dragged him to his feet this time. Pausing to straighten his shirt before linking his arm in with Martin’s and pulling him towards the tube.  _

_ Martin had been to Tim’s flat on previous occasions, it was larger than the basement bedsit that Martin had taken residence in after the worm attack, and it smelled a lot better than the top floor studio that he now rented out in zone four. Tim’s flat was in a street that could be described as victorian and had been used as the backdrop of far too many period dramas, hence previous visits, Sasha and Martin dodging film crews to try and spot movie stars from Tim’s kitchen window. Movie nights and pre and post-night out drinks, Tim’s flat had seen them all, including the Halloween party where Tim had tried to convince Martin that he couldn’t go out dressed like ‘Martin’ and had to have a costume, they had spent an hour trying to sew a plastic parrot to his stripy jumper and given him an eyepatch. The entire night, Tim called him a jolly roger, and made jokes about running up his flagpole. Sasha had laughed and when they had finally all fallen into a drunken puddle back at Tim’s flat later Martin hadn’t thought twice about the way the two of them had slinked off to Tim’s bedroom, leaving Martin to sleep it off on the sofa. Looking back it was obvious now, how besotted Tim was with Sasha, but like most things, it’s obvious long after the time has passed.  _

_ Tim seemed closer to his old self as they exited the tube station, his head held a little higher as he greeted the busker, but his handheld firm around Martin’s waist. His fingers entangled in the bottom of Martin’s shirt. Martin was still sure that he would not be upright if it wasn’t for his support, Martin shuffled them towards Tim’s flat, aware that someone was behind them but giving them no mind, his attention on getting his friend home in one piece.  _

_ Tim rambled, his mouth moving with no real meaning to the words that tumbled from them. It wasn’t till they got to the front door and Martin began fumbling through Tim’s pockets for his keys did Martin realise that Tim was looking at him with a look of curiosity and want. _

_ “Keys Tim?” Martin rummaged through his jacket pocket, Tim leaning against the door grinning. “Not in that pocket, getting warmer.” Martin rolled his eyes, moving to check Tim’s inside jacket pocket, no luck.  _

_ Tim shimmied his hips, grinning “lower Marty.” _

_ “Tim, come on let's not do this.” he tried not to laugh as Tim nudged him with a hip. _

_ “Oh, then we're sleeping on the doorstep…” Tim reached out shoving one hand in Martin's back pocket and the other carded through his curls. “My hands are too busy to find something as stupid as a door key.” Martin tried not to lean into the touch, but Tim’s fingers felt nice tangled up in his hair like this, it felt nice to be wanted, even if this was a stupid idea. That they would both regret when sober. ‘But what about the last time you stopped drunk you doing something on impulse, look where that ended you’ his mind helpfully provided.  _

_ “Tim…” Martin warned, giving in to what the other man was hinting at as he reached into Tim’s back pocket grabbing his keys. The gap between them now, stupidly small. Tim had kissed him before his brain had caught up, a timed thing, not what Martin would have expected in a million years, not from the king of confidence, he found himself kissing him back, pulling him in from the waist where his hand wrapped around the keys against Tim’s skin, warm against the cold night air. This was stupid, this was stupid and they were only doing it because they were both hurt… but it felt good, it felt good to be wanted. Tim pressed in harder, trying to deepen the kiss, inviting Martin to take his fill. The pain of reality faded a little around them… _

_ The crashing of rubbish bins made them jump apart, at the end of the street the green bin lay overturned on the corner, its black bags splayed across the road. Both sets of eyes turned to the sound, before turning back to each other, both red in the face. _

_ “What the…” _

_ “Foxes again probably.” Martin glared into the darkness, the strange feeling of being watched flooded him again, prickling at his mind like a ghost of a thought. _

_ “Yeah, Fox’s.” Tim nudged him again with a hip, drawing his attention back to him. “You coming up?” he asked quietly, angling Martin's gaze to his own with a cup of the cheek. Glancing once more down the street Martin nodded before putting the key in the door. _

“Martin and Tim both approached me. Apparently you’ve been spying on them.” Elias’s voice rang out from the recorder, causing Martin to pause. This wasn’t a statement, he looked at the box of tapes he had pulled from Jon’s office, they weren’t labelled the same way as the normal statements, they had Jon’s messy scrawl across them though in the green fountain pen ink that Martin had gotten him as a Christmas present one year, he listened as the tape spooled on, the sound of Jon, interacting with Elias filled the room. 

“Spying on them? Of course not - No, it’s just… I’ve been… worried about their mental health following Prentiss’ attack, so I’ve been keeping a closer eye on them than usual.”

Martin remembered now, Jon’s paranoia, the intervention, the loss of trust. That had been the thing that had tipped Tim in the end. The fact that he couldn’t trust anyone.Not even Martin. Martin kept shoving the tapes into the recorders until the truth and the pain piled high on the wooden box. 

As he slunk into the nothingness in the corner of the room, he hoped it would be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos make me happy.  
> comments stop me going crazy in isolation.  
> x pez


	7. Chapter 7

The sound of Tims voice drowned out the thing that had been wearing Sasha. The voices drown out the gentle singing. A wall of sound dotted with painful memories that tugged with heavy chains as it pulled against the walls that Martin had built around him. Each familiar voice leveraged against the breakdown of the carefully crafted distance he had cultivated. Voices tugging at memories of what if’s and regrets. The feeling of nostalgia for a life that seemed to belong to someone else. 

The hours ticked by, around the institute the streets of London came alive, the rain never slowing a city that went on with no care or comparison to anyone that lived and breathed its smoggy air. 

The world went on around him as his mind centred on the thing that he was supposed to be denying. The one thing that was taken away from him without fail, again and again. Why did Jon have to be the one he fell for so utterly and completely? Why did he have to fall for someone who seemed to have one setting, that of life-threatening stupidity?

Would things have been different if Sasha had gotten the job she had so desperately wanted? Would things have been different if Tim and Sasha had become a couple, the thing that Tim had wanted more than anything? If Martin had turned down the move to the archives? If he and Tim had gone on one of the dates that Martin had turned down? Or did all roads lead to this? The choices seemed obvious now, but would he have done anything differently? Would he have still found his heart belonged to Jon as it did now? he wanted to bury it deep, never let it see the light of day, but the world didn’t work like that and as he listened to the sound of the people he loved echoing around the office his mind wandered.

  
  


_ “You snore like a bear.”  _

_ Tim complained stirring from his slumber, nudging him playfully in the side, Martin broke his steady gaze from the stucco ceiling and turned to look at the man who lay beside him. Tim’s hair plastered his sleep worn face, so long now it stuck up in random patches around his head. He looked deranged like someone had given him an electric shock, apart from the long length of hair that plastered his forehead where he had scrunched his face into the pillow. He really was handsome when he didn’t have that constant look or frustration on his face all the time, the rest seemed to have done him the world of good. This should be awkward, and it was in a way, but it wasn’t like it was the first time he had woken up with Tim draped over him, it normally just involved more clothes. _

_ “I was thinking I was going to have to shake you awake.” Martin wriggled his arm from under Tim’s chest where he had pinned it when he had rolled out of the clinging hug that had engulfed Martin as they fell asleep.  _

_ “Nah, I’m never more than fashionably late,” Tim stretched, Martin tried not to watch the way his tattoos moved across his skin as the muscles stretched and lengthened. _

_ He tried, but Tim caught him looking. The little laugh that escaped his lips was the first genuine one that Martin had heard since before the attack. “Bloody worms, do they not know how much this ink cost? Coming around here, messing up this manly physique.” Tim ran his fingers over the solid black band on his forearm, it was speckled with silver worm scars. Martin knew that scars already ran deep with that one, the worms would just add insult to injury. _

_ “You could always get it filled back in?” Martin offered, sitting up to join him rubbing the last of the sleep from his eyes. He had slept well, wrapped in an embrace and cocooned in alcohol, he reached out tracing the line of the ink, as Tim watched his fingers running across the worm scars. _

_ “I’d always know it was there, the ink wouldn’t match, Danny would hate the fact that I tried to ‘fix it’. It can just stay like that, a reminder to keep my guard up.” he looked up, catching Martin’s eye, the smile was in them again, even if it was only a fleeting thing that faded quickly into nothing but a shadow of itself as quickly as it had appeared.  _

_ Tim reached out placing his hand on Martin's thigh and squeezing it gently. “Come on we better get you to work, if we both turn up late the gossip will start, Martin Blackwood is not late for work unless the world ends, and even then it would be pushing it, don’t want to let your boss man down.” _

_ Martin flinched, he had managed to not think about Jon at all this morning, the alcohol still in his system a gentle cushion to buffer the outside world. It was nice waking up curdled close to Tim, it had felt safe. It had felt nice to not wake up alone. Even so the words slipped from his mouth with little say of his own brain “Not my boss man.” It hurt to say it but it seemed to be true, Jon was no closer now than he had been when they both started in archives and that would be a wound that would take time to heal. Martin peeled Tim’s hand off his calf, swinging his legs from the side of the bed.  _

_ “I really am sorry about Jon you know.” Tim squeezed Martin’s hand where it covered his arm tattoo. _

_ “I know.” _

__

_ Tim started his usual morning routine, working around Martin as he pulled his clothes off the crumpled mess on the rug, he went to pull the shirt he had been wearing yesterday on before a hand appeared holding a t-shirt. Tim looked at him, head tilted, hair slightly more organised now that he had dragged a comb through it. _

_ “You can’t do the same shirt two days in a row.” he offered in the way of an answer. Martin took hold of the yellow t-shirt turning it in his hands. “Same jeans is fine, you walk in with the same shirt as you had on yesterday, Rosie at the very least will notice, just trust me, you do not want that investigation, she doesn’t know how to leave it be once she starts.” _

_ “Must be why you both get on so well is it?” _

_ “Touche” _

_ Martin pulled the yellow t-shirt on just as Tim threw him a shirt to pull over the top, the t-shirt fit quite well but the button up didn’t quite reach across his chest, none the less he appreciated the gesture. The t-shirt was a cut that clung to the skin and Martin had already been a little self-conscious even though it was only Tim in the room with him. It was silly when he had only just been shirtless a moment before, the thought of other people looking at him made him nervous and his skin itched. That feeling he was being watched was bad enough and becoming constant enough that he could do without adding to it. “ Not going to lie I didn’t think this would fit,” he glanced in the mirror as Tim straightened out his hair in the same reflection.  _

_ Tim’s face set in a disappointed grimace.“No,none of that, not in my flat, any way you aren't that much bigger than me, you just also happen to be some sort of half-giant.” _

_ “Yeah, but you're like that cause of all of the ‘let's throw ourselves down a waterfall and climb a mountain,” _

_ “ You have to be kidding me.” Tim gestured up and down in Martin’s direction. “You got to stop it, I wish you would see what we see when we look at you. I would like to punch whoever gave you this complex.” Tim grumbled, grabbing his jacket and pulling it over his shoulders. “Think I just let anyone who’s not at least an eight sleep in my bed? Do you think I would let Elias sleep in my bed? I think not! Now let's get going or we will be late, and it will be impossible to hide the fact I brought you home last night because, unlike you, my lies are transparent.” Tim grabbed his bag and bum-rushed Martin out the door. _

  
  


_ Nobody mentioned it when they wandered in ten minutes late for work, not even Rosie who waved them in with a grin and eyed Martin with a curious look. “You don’t normally wear yellow, it suits you!” she grinned as Martin tried his best not to blush to the tips of his ears. Tim deposited a latte on her desk grinning, “What's this for?” she asked eying the cup with utmost curiosity. _

_ “Do I have to have a reason to buy the most important person in the institute a warm drink on this cold autumn morning?” _

_ “What do you want Tim?” she leaned in tapping him on the end of the nose with a long red-painted nail. _

_ “Not a thing,” Tim smiled pushing Martin towards the steps to the archives, “I’m just in a good mood, is that a sin?” _

_ “Timothy Stoker … what have you done.” Rosie cocked an eyebrow ready to start her usual bombardment of questions. Tim was saved from having to answer by the arrival of Sasha. She greeted them as if the pub the night before had never happened. The fact that Sasha was also late seemed to be scandal enough for the attention of Rosie to wander, Sasha and her late arrival having piqued her interest more than Tim’s act of generosity. Martin had the peace of mind to grab Tim and start walking him towards the archives, aware of the fact that Tim seemed routed on the spot as soon as his eyes had fallen on Sasha.  _

_ Rosie, like Martin, was well versed in reading a room, she stepped between the two before Tim could move towards Sasha, “Martin, Jon wanted to see you as soon as you got in.” Sasha took the interruption as a chance to nip down the steps to the basement. Tim watched her go before turning to the receptionist “Rosie … what do you know about her new fella?” Tim said sagging against the reception desk. _

_ “Who?Tom?” _

_ “You have to be kidding me …. Tom?” Tim gulped on his coffee as if it had personally insulted him. ‘Not even trying hard to replace me’ could be heard muttering into the plastic lid. Rosie sighed patted Martin on the arm and pointedly rolled her eyes at Tim. “ leave him to me, you go see Jon. I have this.” _

_ “You sure?”  _

_ “Go.”  _

_ Martin gave one last hopeless look at Tim before following Sasha into the archives. _

  
  
  
  
  


_ Martin readjusted the take out cup so he could open the office door, Jon startled when the door opened trying to shove the files on his desk into an untidy pile.  _

_ “You startled me.”  _

_ “I did knock… it’s a little early to be recording statements isn't it?” Martin took the few steps across the office holding out the paper cup for Jon to take, the smaller man looked up at him as he reached out, fingers lingering as he took the cup, he looked tired, more tired than Martin had seen him in a long time. Maybe that was what dating someone on the police did to you? The hours couldn’t be the best, but it wasn’t like Jon kept normal office hours, maybe that was why it worked? Not that Martin didn’t just live in the archives for months.  _

_ It wasn’t even as if anything had happened between him and Jon, Jon didn’t owe him anything, yet the red hoodie was slung over the back of his chair and the way Jon looked at him now, a mixture of emotions plastered on his face. It made Martin want at least some sort of answer as to why he had been pushed so suddenly back out of Jon’s life. _

_ Martin wished his mind wouldn’t linger on the small touches that passed between them or the way that Jon seemed to be studying his face. What he wouldn’t have given to wake up with Jon wrapped in his arms, safe and content. That way madness lay, but still, the idea was planted now, a seed of pain that wouldn’t leave him. _

_ “Rosie said you wanted to see me?” he hovered wondering if he should take a seat. Was he in trouble? _

_ “I had expected you earlier? Not like you to be late.” Jon glanced up at the clock and then back at Martin. _

_ “Oh, yeah, me and Tim went to get everyone drinks and pastries, he’s got the box, sorry I should have-” _

_ “-You and Tim?” Jon cut across him, a look of something in his eye. There was more to the question, why did Jon have to suddenly become observant? Had word gotten out that they had left together last night and come in together this morning already? It wouldn't be the first time but minus Sasha it would seem more sordid. Martin looked down at the tea in his hand, he couldn’t do this, he couldn't do the walk of shame especially not with Jon of all people. _

_ “Yeah, we met at the tube and thought, you know what? We deserve cakes for breakfast it's been a long week” it was only a little white lie they had been at the tube together, he glanced up to see if Jon had bought it. He seemed to, his hand hovering over the file on the desk.  _

_ “That’s part of the reason I asked to speak to you…” Jon trailed off, he seemed to be weighing up his words before he spoke, taking a sip of his own tea. “Tim.” _

_ “What about Tim?” Martin was sure that Jon wasn’t that observant, he couldn’t know that he could still taste Tim’s aftershave when he worried at his lip, that Martin knew that today Tim was wearing purple boxers with little stars on them. The sudden thought that he might smell like Tim crossed his mind and he had to stop himself from trying to smell his shirt. _

_ Jon worried at the file on the table “Just… I know he’s having a bit of a bad time of it at the moment. Has she said anything to you? Just I know you both left a little earlier than normal yesterday and well if you think it’s something I should know about?”  _

_ Martin picked at the hem of the Tshirt Tim had lent him, he was suddenly aware of how intense Jon’s stare was on him, Jon knew. Somehow, Jon knew.  _

_ “He’s just a little out of sorts, he will be fine.” _

_ “Nothing to worry about?” Jon carefully placed the cup down on his desk. Martin found himself wishing he was anywhere but here. _

_ “No, sorry about yesterday we went to spoons, we would have invited you but officer Hussain was here and well, we didn’t want to interrupt you both.” the pain only coated half of the words that fell from his mouth. Tim wouldn’t mind if he twisted the button off the cuff of his shirt, would he? _

_ Jon huffed from behind his desk, causing Martin to look up from the dark blue button that was now hanging by a thread. Dark circles carved into the sleep-deprived face grumbling behind the desk. How was it, despite the fact he was covered in scars and looked about to drop dead of stress, Jon still managed to be the most beautiful creature to have captured Martin’s heart. How had he gotten it all so wrong? Jon shoved a loose bit of hair behind his ear, it was getting long now, the grey was getting more noticeable, the stress of the last few months making itself physically known. Jon took another sip for his tea. Closing his eyes as he seemed to settle on what he wanted to say. _

_ “Yes, well. Tim seems to have jumped to some sort of conclusion when it comes to myself and Basira, Tim does seem to like a good scandal. Between the two of us there's nothing going on, but let Tim have his fun if it helps him cope. ” Jon set his eyes on him from across the desk, the look was loaded and locked on target. It was as if he were making absolutely sure that Martin knew there was nothing going on between him and Basira “Anyway, that’s irrelevant, do you think Tim is up to investigating on his own, or should I send Sasha to follow up on this statement?” _

_ “I could go?” Martin offered as a reflex reaction, it was out of his mouth before he could think. He was trying to break eye contact with the eyes fixated across the desk, the news of Jon’s lack of a relationship was creeping over him he could feel his mind turning over the information, stewing in its mild panic and joy at this turn of events. _

_ “No, I’d like you to follow up on yesterday's cases please, I’d like the files back this afternoon” there was no point in arguing when Jon had his mind set on something.  _

_ “Oh, ok. Tim should be fine, I think getting him out the office might be good for him.” he managed to break the eye contact, fidgeting with the cup in his hand and getting to his feet, Jon gave out a heavy sigh, heavier than his usual. Martin paused hand on the door. _

_ “Are you ok Jon?” _

_ “Perfectly fine,” Jon pulled the files towards him. Looking up he caught Martin's eye again, he looked pained like he wanted to say something that he was holding back, eventually, he spoke: “You should wear yellow more, it suits you.” Martin tried not to blush as he pulled the door closed behind him. _

  
  


Communication had never been the strongest attribute of the archive staff, too many self-destructive habits that a therapist would need self-therapy after unpacking, but as he listened to Tim’s voice woven with Jon’s against a sea of other voices, he began to realise he should have been looking at the things they didn’t say. The words that Tim had tried to express in actions, the devotion that the man had in spades if only they had taken the time to notice. If Tim were here now he would have something to say about Martin yet again worrying himself over one of Jon’s stupid decisions, would he still try and distract him? Would he support him in his own strange and unusual way? He still had the shirt Tim lent him, it was shoved in a bag in his bedsit, long forgotten about, much like the stupid notion that Jon had dated Basira.

All of it seemed like a dream now. A dream from before the fears held reign over their every waking and dreaming thought and action.

  
  
  


_ Tim stormed out of Jon’s office, a string of expletives falling from his mouth as he slammed the door on his way out. Martin had been hovering, aware of the fact that raised voices in the head archivists office could go one of two ways. Tim bulldozing his way out seemed like the lesser of two evils. He braced himself before walking into Jon’s office, he didn’t bother knocking, Tim had left the door wide open on his exit. _

_ Jon was sitting behind his desk, his head in his hands.  _

_ Martin edged forward, unsure if Jon was angry, upset or had finally hit the wall of the breakdown he seemed to be hurtling towards every day now.  _

_ Martin dropped the files he was carrying down on the edge of Jon’s desk, as he did so his eyes scanned the file lying open on the desk. Martin recognised the sandstone victorian facade of Tim’s flat, saw a copy of the picture of Tim and Danny that Tim had framed on the fireplace. Saw a litany of pictures of Tim’s life scattered across the desk... _

_ Why did Jon have pictures of Tim’s flat? Of Tim’s life? It seems a little bit stalkerish, Jon wouldn’t go that far would he?  _

_ But Jon had been far from himself, spiralling, would he put it past him to stalk his staff? _

_ Suddenly the feeling of being watched, the upturned bins scattered by something or someone at the end of Tim’s street. That look of pained knowing that Jon had worn when he called him in this morning. It seemed like a long shot, but Tim had just stormed out… _

_ “Jon, have you been following us?” Martin asked quietly, he didn’t need the tiny nod that Jon gave him to know he was right.  _

_ “What the hell Jon!”  _

_ Jon didn’t say anything, not looking up from his hands, Martin didn’t blame Tim for his reaction, he was on the edge of following Tim out the door. _

_ “Do you honestly not trust us at all?” he tried to keep the hurt out of his voice. How could they go from being so close to not being able to trust each other at all?  _

_ “How can I trust you all, when all you do is lie to me,” Jon muttered, words slipping through his entwined fingers. Martin could feel the anger growing in his chest. The parts of his heart he had begun to stick back together began to fall apart again as the glue failed. _

_ “Can’t trust us? Look who’s talking! Do you think I don’t know you have been sneaking down into the damn tunnels at night?”  _

_ Jon looked up at that. His eyes panicked. Martin made to sit down in the other chair then thought better of it if Jon pushed him he might explode, and he needed this job. His feelings towards Jon couldn’t get in the way of that. He had his mother to think of, he needed this job, even if the bits of the life he had begun to build for himself began to fall apart around his ears. _

_ “I have to find out-.” _

_ “-find out what? That everyone but you and me has a life outside the institute?” Martin cut across him, trying his hardest to bite down on the venom that coated his tongue. “You know this isn’t right don’t you?” the anger was making him shake, he had never shown this side of himself to Jon and he wasn’t about to start now, against his better judgment he sunk into the chair if just to ground himself so he didn’t completely explode, whatever breakdown Jon was having wasn’t going to be helped by him adding to it. Martin ran his hands over the worn arm of the office chair trying to calm his breathing. _

_ “Tim’s just been acting so strange. I just… I want to trust you, but someone killed Gertrude” _

_ “And none of us even worked with her! So what do you think stalking us is going to prove? Are you expecting one of us to pull out a binder filled with a cunning plot to overthrow you?” _

_ Jon pulled the contents of the desk into his open file and slid it in the draw. Sitting back, rubbing his temples with the heels of his wrist, he looked stressed and the part of Martin that wanted to protect him was battling against the part of him that was offended at the invasion of privacy. _

_ “-and that's what's wrong with you, did you follow us last night? Did you see something you would rather not have?” _

_ Jon at least had the decency to blush as he mumbled something under his breath, the anger building under Martin’s skin getting harder to control. “I’m sorry I didn’t hear you?” the button on Tim’s shirt had now been worked completely loose Martin twirled it in his hand as he tried to keep his voice calm, all things considering he thought he was doing well not to totally explode. But he didn’t owe Jon anything, despite how much he wanted to. _

_ “You and Tim?” Jon questioned trying not to find his eye.  _

_ “Went out for a drink because Sasha and him are having issues, and I was under the impression… well it doesn’t matter what I thought does it…”  _

_ Jon’s eye caught his, a look of pain and distrust wrapped in a look of loss met him. How had things gone so wrong so quickly? _

_ “I saw…” Jon trailed off, refusing to blink as his brown eyes searched for something, Martin hated the feeling of being seen like this, he was so used to being under the radar, to have someone trying so hard to understand him was unnerving. _

_ “You saw me and a very drunk Tim, maybe if you had just come out the shadows and actually come and spoken to us you would have the whole picture?” he got to his feet, his stomach twisting in knots. “I’m going to find Tim before he does something so stupid I can’t save him from it by distracting him with a kiss.” he shot a pointed look at Jon. “I will see you on Monday if you can refrain from stalking me that long”  _

_ His stomach lurched to his chest as she heard Jon mutter ‘I'm sorry ‘ into his hands as he sunk his head against the desk. _

The tapes all screeched as the lid of the coffin began to shake, Martin slipped into the Forsaken before the wood slipped off sending the recorders scooting across the floor as one grubby worm scared hand grasped on the side, yanking two bodies into the early morning sunlight.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to everyone who has given me kudos,   
> it means a whole lot!  
> I'm also dyslexic so I write to keep my brain from falling into bad habits, although I'm sure if we have ever interacted in any chats or over twitter or Tumblr, my awful spelling should at least give you a little bit of a laugh.
> 
> kudos is good but comments and any missing scenes you would like to see in the comments section makes my phone beep and makes me feel like I'm not going up the wall in isolation.
> 
> hugs ( socially distanced ones only ) Pez


	8. Chapter 8

Peter was going to know and he would not be happy. 

What had possessed him to help get Jon out of the coffin? The idea was so far removed from the plan of action that he knew Peter would read it on his face as soon as he looked at him. Martin paced the office trying not to listen to the sounds his ears strained to hear over the top of the rest of the institute. He knew there was no way he could hear what was happening three floors down and through that much concrete but still his heart betrayed him every time a door slammed or raised voices reached his ears. 

He watched the little flicking lights on the computer screen next to the archive staff's names, eyes fixed upon the inactive amber that sat next to Jon’s name. Martin had been careful to fade out of existence as best he could when they had emerged from the buried. Yet Jon’s eyes seemed to have fallen straight upon him. A look of resolution and outright devotion that Martin felt didn’t deserve to be directed at him, not before and most definitely not now. He had wanted to reach out and pull Jon into his arms, hold him the way Basira now wrapped Daisy in a cocoon of love. But he couldn’t move, the fog had begun sinking into his bones, twisting and holding him in place before a gentle hum had called to him from somewhere deep in the fog that wrapped around him and Jon had fallen from view. 

It had taken too long for the fog to recede, it still filtered into his brain now as he tried to focus on the pixels that had just changed to green and block out what sounded like distant waves that had blocked the sound of the institute around him.

  
  


_ The day had been strange, Martin had gotten used to the constant tension in the office, Tim refused to even acknowledge Jon’s existence. The intrusion of privacy is too great even for him to forgive. Jon had started working later and later, that gaze of his falling upon Sasha. Jon, the man that never ate, leaving for lunch as soon as Sasha had let the door close behind her. Tim had followed them. His hatred for Sasha’s new boyfriend Tom only topped slightly by the need to make sure that Jon didn’t hurt her in any way, after all, he wasn’t a monster. Tim returned slightly after Jon, his face set in a grimace and a boots meal deal in hand that always seemed to find its way to Martin’s desk. Even though he was angry at the world he seemed to thaw a little when he was around Martin, the playful flirtation was gone, cast off like it hadn’t ever existed. Tim without his signature moves was sombre, muted like all the colour had been drained and someone forgot to top up the toner. But even washed out Tim continued to be the closest thing that Martin had to Family, he wasn’t ready to drop his grip on that just yet. _

_ Jon remained distant, his face a tableau of angst and paranoia and no matter how much Martin wanted to be angry at him, he couldn’t. He wanted to reach out and comfort him, to calm his nerves. He had lost track of how many times he had been caught staring now when the office door was left cracked open. After a few days he tentatively pushed it open and offered the proverbial olive branch, the tea was taken with shaken hands and questioning eyes. He had given Jon an option, he had nothing to apologize for. Jon was in the wrong here not him, for once he wouldn’t back down from his resolve.  _

_ When Martin came back from the library later a cup of tea was perched on the end of his desk, the office door that stood wide open. The tea tasted like dishwater and had too many sugars but he drank it anyway, aware of that feeling of being watched. _

  
  
  


_ In all the years that the lies of his C.v had been hanging over his head he always thought it would be Elias that would call him out on the bullshit written on the pages. He hadn’t expected it to be Jon that would be the one to bring that house of lies crashing down around his ears. To be fair he was sure Sasha had worked it out, she was too good at knowing things sometimes, even if that version of her seemed to have disappeared with this new boyfriend of hers, and Tim, well Tim had worked it out within a week. Alcohol had been involved and flirting. He had not been expecting Jon to find out and If it wasn’t for Martin trying so hard to communicate with his own flesh and blood, Jon would quite happily have been in the dark for the rest of their working relationship and Martin was quite happy for that to be the case. Yet Jon had seemed relieved to find that the big twist in the tale as he had lied about his qualifications, his face seemed to positively light up at it. Now if they could just start to communicate… _

_ The rest of the shift was spent with the door open, glances back and forth between the two of them,as hours ticked away. Martin was surprised to see Jon had left when he returned from the library, it wasn't like him to leave before the rest of the staff. He checked the coat rack and Jon’s wax jacket had gone, as had his umbrella and laptop bag from beside his desk. It was a sense of relief that washed over Martin as he deposited the large book on his desk and set about looking up a fact he wanted to chase on the existence of werewolves. _

The statement sat on the edge of his desk, as if it had appeared from thin air, had he gone and gotten it? He remembered getting up but other than that the facts seemed muddy, like trying to look back on a dream that you woke from suddenly, hazy around the edges. 

He pulled the file towards him, he instantly recognised the scrawl of Gertrude in the margins, he was thankful that at least it wasn’t a file that Jon had already pulled. The thought of his passive-aggressive comments and asides in that sloping hand of his pulled at a heartstring that hadn’t severed the connection yet. Even now, that need to prove himself to Jon had a control on him he wished it didn’t. He wished it would subside. That and the constant feeling of being watched. 

  
  
  


_ October was a strange time in the city of London, Christmas decorations had begun to creep into window displays, intermixed with Halloween decorations that ranged from gaudy to downright terrifying. It also heralded the increase of fake statements coming into the office, hence why Martin had wanted to try and finish some of the outstanding investigations that had been growing on his ‘to do’ pile before heading home for the night.  _

_ It was a little after nine when he waved goodby to the night guard and headed to the nearest tube stop. The shutters were drawn. The untidy scrawl on the noticeboard cited fatality on the line as having closed the station. He looked at the time on his phone as he pulled up the tube map, trying to work out the best alternative route, it would be unlikely that the line would open again tonight, maybe he could get overground? He turned on his heels heading towards the next station, even in this part of London the streets were still dotted with people coming and going trying to get out of the evening chill. He had just gotten to a crossing when he spotted Jon. He sat alone at the table outside the ‘beehive’, his collar turned up to the wind, pint in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He cut a lonely figure lit in the downlight that hung above the sign.  _

  
  
  


_ “Couldn't let you drink alone.” _

_ Jon jumped, he had been so focused on his own pint, that when Martin placed his down on the metal table beside him it had taken him actually speaking for Jon to notice his presence. _

_ “Martin?” _

_ “The one and only,” Jon looked even more bedraggled this close up, just when was the last time he had slept? The bags around his eyes were getting worse. _

_ “Why-” Jon began before Martin cut him off with his explanation. _

_ “Tube closed, someone on the line, normal stuff not spooky stuff… I hope, poor bugger, either way, was heading up to the district and I spotted you doing your angry emo thing, thought I better check on you.” _

_ “Not stalking me are you?” _

_ “If I was, you wouldn’t know about it, I have reached the gold star on the crime board in that proficiency, you, however, not even a bronze.” _

_ Jon huffed, pulling his jacket closer around his shoulders, the cigarette burned to the tip as he watched Martin, fixated on something that he obviously could see that had piqued his interest. Martin waited, whatever it was that Jon was thinking about would come to the surface eventually. Sure enough, Jon moved as the light on his cigarette reached the tips of his fingers, snuffing the thing out in the ashtray behind Martin’s head.  _

_ “Would have thought you would have been at Tim’s?” Jon muttered, turning his attention back to his pint. _

_ “Why would I be at Tim’s? Do you not think I have enough of him during the week? Plus he’s in a stinking mood at the moment, can’t imagine why?” he knew what Jon was getting at, of course, he did, didn’t mean he got to have an easy ride over it.  _

_ “I am sorry for that, you know?” _

_ “I’m not sure you are?” The beer was cold, it did nothing to warm him up against the coldness of the night or the resentment that seemed to be rolling off Jon. _

_ Whatever this war was Martin was fighting with himself, it was eating him up from the inside out, and each frustrated mumble tugged the gossamer strings to his heart, he needed to protect him. Martin was trying his hardest to stop that scooping feeling that hooked on somewhere near his navel and pulled. This needed to be a thread that was cut and cauterized, the wound would heal quicker that way. Both men drained their glasses in silence, lost in thought “You and Tim, you both need to talk to someone, you both went through a lot, I hate to see you at each other's throats like this.”  _

_ “I do not need to speak to someone.” _

_ “Really? Cause I know some good therapists if money is an issue I’m sure Elias-” _

_ “-I don’t need a therapist Martin. I need to be able to trust the people I work with, something that I’m sorely lacking.” Jon bit back. _

_ “So you still don’t trust me.” it hurt but at least it was out there. _

_ “I trust you more than I did before I learned you lied to me, about something as mundane-” _

_ “-I needed the money, I need this job, I have hospice bills to pay, I told you.” he tried to keep his voice calm, no point making a scene. _

_ “And I know, Just give me time… please.” there was a pleading in his voice, it made Martin pause, thinking before answering. This was more than a plea for trust, this was deeper than that, Jon was asking for time. Time, he could do. If they could just get past the distrust. _

_ They held each other's gaze a little longer before Jon got to his feet.  _

_ “Let me buy the next one?” he asked voice low and hushed. A peace offering. Martin nodded watching as he dipped in the swing doors and the sound of drinkers filled the night. _

  
  


_ Jon seemed to relax a little as Martin pushed the conversation away from the archives, but even that was difficult, considering the fact that both of them seemed to spend more time there than anywhere else. It wasn’t forced, but something heavy still hung between them. The betrayal reached out twisting around Martin’s heart, squeezing. He wanted to know if the way Jon felt about him had been a momentary loss of reason, it had to have been the alcohol last time, Jon couldn’t want him the same way. His actions screamed that he was scared, that he didn’t trust. Martin should distance that memory, one of Jon’s hands wrapped in his own, small fingers twisted into his. warm and welcoming breath lingering on his cheek. _

_ But that was before it all went wrong. _

_ Yet, Jon looked at him now, eyes scanning his face, scars glowing in the incandescent light that hovered above them, the resolve not to feel anything for him became almost as impossible as losing the function to breathe. _

_ “You could just ask you know?” his mind bringing forth the things he wouldn’t dare to ask. _

_ “About what?” Jon paused hand on his way to his mouth to light another cigarette. _

_ “What you saw? You’re stewing on it, I can see the cogs turning in that mind of yours.” The alcohol seemed to be making him brave. How long ago was it since he had eaten last? Did he have lunch today? Without that constant nagging at Jon to eat, sometimes he forgot to do it himself. A pint and a half in and he already felt a lot bolder than he would normally, especially when it came to Jon. _

_ “What you and Tim get up to is none of my business.” J0on tried for nonchalant and failed _

_ “Knew you were stewing.” _

_ “I do not ‘stew’” _

_ “No you’re right, you sulk, and you’re too stubborn to just ask.” Martin knew he was playing a dangerous game, but  _ something _ told him that this was the right thing to do. Jon used the lighter, slipping it back into his coat pocket. The gentle glow of the burning tobacco held his gaze for a moment before he spoke. _

_ “Did you sleep with Tim?” his voice was soft as if he couldn’t believe they were his own words coming out of his mouth. His eyes flicked to Martin’s holding his gaze. _

_ “Yes, I slept with Tim.” Martin kept his hands busy holding his pint, Jon’s eyes suddenly looked so hurt, but he pressed on. “As in, slept in the same bed as him, not you know...the other stuff, not that I don’t .. I mean I'm gay, not dead… and Tim… well, is Tim… but if what you want to know is did I have sex with Tim, the answer is no.” it was true, it hadn’t been for lack of want, both parties had been consenting, it was just not fair on either of them to use each other that way, Martin was too hung up on Jon and Tim, Sasha. _

_ Jon’s shoulders relaxed, but he still had questions, it was written all over his face. “But…” _

_ “You saw me kissing him, I know. I won’t apologise, not for the shitty place my head was in or for the stupid amount of alcohol I had consumed. We make stupid mistakes when we are inebriated.” he left that hanging between them and watched as Jon dissected that information. There was a reason Martin hadn’t made a move on his birthday if he and Jon were going to ever happen, he wanted both of them to be on the same page, he didn’t give his heart out freely and Jon needed to know that.  _

_ “Yes, well…” _

_ “Exactly.”  _

_ Around then the street began to fill, Jon started, looking at his watch, “good lord, is that the time?”  _

_ The night had slipped away from them, had they really been sitting out in the cold for two hours? He would feel it tomorrow. Next to him Jon got to his feet, he nodded in the direction of the tube, Martin followed in step soon after. They walked in silence until they reached the turnstile. Jon paused, oyster card in hand before he tapped in and headed in the opposite direction to Martin’s destination, turning he placed a hand on Martin’s arm and squeezed it gently.  _

_ “Just give me time. Please.” _

_ Martin didn’t know how to answer, he just nodded gently squeezing the hand that had taken up residence on his forearm. They stood like that for a moment until someone coughed behind them, wanting to get through the barrier. It shook them out of whatever reverence had set over them. Jon blushed, pulling his arm back and nervously moving to one side. He hastened a smile that didn’t quite sit right on his anxious-looking face before following the stranger through to the platform. _

_ “Good night.”  _

_ “Try and actually sleep yeah?” Martin said as Jon headed to the platform, “I’ll see you in the morning.” _

_ He tried not to let the little half-wave Jon gave him as he turned the corner affect his heart but the grove had already begun to open along the faultline, Jonathan Sims was going to be the death of him. _

_ ***** _

_ “-stupid arrogant arsehole.”  _

_ Martin watched as Tim stormed out of the archives, coat in one hand, phone in the other. No less than ten seconds later Jon stuck his head out of the office door where Tim had just vacated. He looked dazed as if whatever had come to pass just moments before had caught him off guard, he glanced from Martin to Sasha before shaking his head. _

_ “One of you should probably go after him.” He volunteered to the room at large, Martin looked at Sasha who pointedly turned her attention back to her screen. Martin didn’t even try to hide his disappointment in her as he got to his feet and grabbed his coat from the rack next to Sasha. _

_ “What did you do this time?” Martin mouthed in Jon’s direction, getting an answer in the form of a shrug. Defeated, Martin heads for the stairs in pursuit of his friend. _

_ He found Tim where he knew he would, in the little park that overlooked the riverboats that lined the Thames. He was kicking up the leaves that had cast themselves from the oak trees, either by the wind or by the hand of the local kids in search of conkers it was hard to tell. Tim kicked at the same spot over and over until nothing remained but a soggy pile of pound earth. _

_ “What do you want Martin?” he didn’t look up. _

_ “To make sure you didn’t do anything stupid.” _

_ “Think we have filled our quota for stupid this month.” Tim snapped back aggressively kicking at the hole he was digging with his foot. _

_ “You know what I mean Tim, don’t be like that.” _

_ Tim toed a stone out of the hole and kicked it across the park “What’s his problem Martin seriously?” _

_ “I think you summed it up when you called him a stupid arrogant arsehole to be fair.”  _

_ That got the raise he was looking or from Tim, he caught Martin’s eye, the anger slipping away slightly. Martin took his chance to look Tim in the eye, edge the confrontation towards some sort of amicable conclusion, maybe address the anger that Tim seems to carry around constantly with him these days. _

_ “Try and give him a chance, I’ve talked to him about maybe going to therapy? Maybe you should go to therapy?” Tim seemed to think about it before shaking his head and tensing his shoulders against the world. _

_ “When was that then? When did you and Bossman start having the heart to hearts again, is that why he’s dialled being a pretentious prick back to a nine?” _

_ “That’s what you're taking from this?” _

_ “That you pick Jon over me? Yeah, you and your questionable loyalties are what I'm taking from this.”  _

_ Martin tried not to think of the feeling that had started tugging at his ribcage again now when his mind wandered to Jon, he was trying to build that trust up, Martin didn’t want to push it by telling Tim too much, but he also didn’t want to push Tim away, he cared too much about him to do that. He weighed up his options. _

_ “We talked … cleared some things up.” _

_ “What like the fact I'm not shagging his favourite assistant despite what he thinks he saw?” _

_ “ Yes, well... that was some of it, yes.” Martin stuttered, trying not to let the disappointed look on Tim’s face bother him as much as it was. _

_ “He probably just wanted more intel for his stupid investigation.” _

_ “Probably, but are either of you dealing with this in the best way?” _

_ “Ok, good point.” Tim sagged in defeat, Martin hated to see it, Tim without the pep was painful to watch. Steering Tim towards the coffee cart that stood on the corner of the street he pulled his arms around him tighter. It was cold and the thin jacket he was wearing did nothing to protect from the river winds that whipped around the park. The world would feel better after a cup of tea, tea made most things alright, and if not alright at least bearable. _

_ “I’m going to start looking for another job, I can’t keep doing this,” Tim said eventually as they meandered back towards the institute the mood between them still sombre but no longer hostile. “If I start looking, will you pretend to be my boss on a reference?” Tim nudged Martin’s hip with his own as he sipped on his coffee. _

_ “No, because… one … that’s a lie and two… I need you here to keep me sane!” they paused on the steps, the institute loomed down on them, a mausoleum to the weird. It’s rain-drenched windows staring endlessly out over a dank and dreary London ever watching the world go past at a thousand miles an hour, never slowing to the monotonous pace of the old wind bashed bricks. _

_ Tim looked from the uninviting entrance to Martin and back before linking his arm through his and pulling him forward. “First off, you lie like a priest caught with his pants down, and secondly it’s too late for anyone's sanity, I think we gave that up when we signed the contracts with Elias.”  _

_ Martin couldn’t help but agree as he pushed open the doors and saw the man himself smiling at them in the entranceway.  _

How different would it have been if Tim had actually started looking for a job back then? Would he even have been able to? Martin had thought about it a lot in the last few months since Jon had come back from his imitated death. Would he be able to quit now? He tried the words on his tongue and found that they at least formed, maybe as he leant more towards the lonely the action would become easier? Or was Lukas tied to the institute and Elias in much the same way? The urge to go and visit Elias and just ask was growing with each and every passing day, but what good would it have in the grand scheme of things? Yes, he could leave but where would that leave Jon? All of this was for Jon. It didn’t matter what happened to him as long as Jon was ok. He pulled the fog around him until he could no longer see his own reflection in the window before heading out of the office and heading home, taking care to avoid the pull of the sounds that were washing up from the archives, they sounded too much like hope to be anything good.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How's lockdown treating you all?   
> I currently look like a tangerine, as I can have whatever hair I like when I don't have to leave the house.   
> Thanks for the kudos, you know I love you all just a little for it.  
> shout at me in the comments or shout at me over on Tumblr if you want it pezilla.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm over on Tumblr as Pezilla
> 
> or leave me a bit of feedback here?  
> either way thanks for reading!


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